The Tainted Cherry Tree
by book5worm3
Summary: A light, warm account of Ron and Hermione's newly developed relationship under the watchful eyes of the Weasleys&Co. My first fic so apologies if it doesn't suit you. Smut will progress quite quickly, because everyone loves a nice bit of R/H lemony goodness!
1. Getting Settled

**_A/N: _**_This is my first fanfic and to be honest I'm not exactly sure where I'm going with it, but I have a few basic ideas. This opening chapter is pretty much just to set the scene for the chapters in the near future. Although I wish, I own nothing but this story line and this was made purely for entertainment purposes. Hope you enjoy!_

**Chapter 1: Getting Settled**

As Hermione Granger let her steaming mug of tea linger by her cold collar-bone she thought the Burrow seemed quieter. Not really in an audible way – even without her vantage point from the kitchen window she could still _hear_ Ron, Harry and Ginny's elated whooping and boisterous digs at one another as they tossed the quaffle between them.

Upstairs she could hear Mrs Weasley bounding about the place, mending this and righting that while a flushed and desperate Fleur followed in tow trying to assist her rambunctious mother-in-law, and Mr Weasley in the next room, quite animatedly describing the function of a muggle television to his rather nonchalant sons; Charlie and Percy.

Hermione smiled to herself briefly as she watched the orange glow of the failing light caress Ron's energy lit face as he laughed particularly hard at something Harry had said.

He had been through so much these past few days - months really; they all had.

Silently Hermione tried to settle the painfully lively nerves that fluttered around her stomach at the thought of everything these past few months.

'Focus on now, Hermione' she reminded herself yet again and took several careful breaths.

Right now Ron was safe, right now he was here, with her and right now, in this very moment he was happy. And that's all she wanted, what she'd ever wanted.

Gulping down the cooling tea, she hoped that it would warm her up for she was so very cold; the cold that not only seeps into your bones but into your very core – and it wasn't to do with the weather. Hermione often found herself in this chilled state these days.

The sitting room erupted into fits of laughter, bringing her back to her first stream of consciousness – it wasn't that The Burrow was audibly quieter it was just… missing something.

It was missing the key ingredient that made The Burrow 'The Burrow' and though she couldn't put her finger on the exact ingredient she just knew it was missing. '_Of course it could be the fact that one of the key family members is dead' _the nasty voice of reality hissed in the back of her head as she shrugged off the chill that descended down her spine.

Just then she heard the remaining half of the door swing open as the three quidditch players bustled in, full of exuberance and opinions and Hermione placed herself back into check while busying herself at the counter, deciding to get a start on the washing up before Mrs Weasley made it back down. Really, that woman never did rest for even a moment.

"Alright, Hermione?" Ginny greeted enthusiastically, thundering through the kitchen with the boys trailing behind at her heels.

Glancing behind her with a grin, Hermione let her hands bask in the warmth of the suddy water.

"You lot had fun then, I take it?"

"You should have joined us, Hermione. Honestly, I think you'd really enjoy the flying thing after a while!" Harry piped up, from his stance on the sturdy kitchen table, admiring Ginny's beam.

"I don't think so Harry, but it's nice of you to say so." Hermione smiled gently, knowing her best friend was only being kind about her 'inability'.

Turning back to face out the window, she continued the laborious yet (for Hermione) strangely satisfying task of meticulously washing each knife, fork, dish. And then suddenly up against her ear she felt a jet of warm air.

"Hey you." Ron's throaty voice tickled the shell of her ear as she gasped softly, feeling his large, clammy palms slide over her waist and rest naturally at her hip. Leaning into his embrace she now basked in the warmth radiating from him – filling up her body and her bones with the comfort she had been lacking.

"Oi, get a room you pair! We all know you took your bleedin' time getting there but no need to show off now; especially you, you big buffoon!" Ginny exclaimed heartily before bouncing off her side of the table and dragging a mortified Harry by the arm back out the door.

Pressing into hair and inhaling deeply, Ron found his hands tightening on his _girlfriend's _hips as she sighed softly – a sound only he, Ronald Bilius Weasley, could and would elicit from her.

Ron leaned in further to dust feather light kisses all over the shell of her ear, one hand trailing slowly up from its comfort zone at her hip to her midriff.

Ever since Hermione had finally expressed her feelings for the both of them, Ron had found it rather difficult (if not impossible) to keep his hands off this delectable creature that was _his_, only _his _and wanted to be _only his_.

And though they _had _done more than chaste kissing and hand holding, Ron was insistent that they take this slowly – learn their way through it together because he'd be damned if he was going to mess this up.

However that didn't stop him from assaulting her hormones when he felt like it.

"Oh Ron, we shouldn't… Not here…" Hermione said, almost trying to convince herself as she settled further into the arms of the ginger haired man behind her.

"We shouldn't what?" He responded gruffly, stepping even closer to her – his hips now resting flush against her lower back. "We're not doing anything Hermione, just holding each other." He stated as he began to plant lingering kisses on her earlobe, in the nook behind her ear, down the side of her neck, all the while his thumbs drawing sweet circles over and over on her hip bone and her stomach.

His hand slipped under the coarse wool of her jumper and she gasped again as his cool hand made contact with her warm skin. With Ron's hands moving so deliciously carefully over her body, his moist breath surging into her ear and the delightfully hard lump settled right against her back, Hermione couldn't help but indulge herself in the glory that was Ronald Weasley, her best friend, her first and only love, her childhood fantasy, touching her in this intimate way. And that was enough to fuel the fire that he had always stirred in her.

At the sound of heavy footsteps galloping down the stairs, Ron practically leapt off Hermione and immersed himself in searching through cupboards while pleading with himself to calm down.

Hermione having much the same reaction concentrated on slowing her breathing as her flushed face focused intently on the task she was still completing.

"Oh Hermione, dear, you are ever so good!" Mrs Weasley exclaimed from across the room with a slightly forced sense of joy.

Everyone knew that Mrs Weasley was finding it particularly difficult to come to terms with Fred's death. Like any mother who has lost a child, Mrs Weasley found it almost impossible to continue even the simple day to day chores that had made their way to mould what her day-to-day routine consisted of. And without the energy to do those – what did her day-to-day routine really consist of?

Molly Weasley had never been one to doubt her character, or herself for that matter, but behind the façade of her 'normal' self she tried so assiduously to maintain, Molly Weasley just didn't know who she was these days.

Suddenly feeling a wave of guilt at what she had previously been doing, Hermione smiled meekly from her position at the sink and noticed just how aged Mrs Weasley seemed to have become over the past year.

"'Ere, let mi 'elp you."

Fleur breathed in her throaty, part Veela voice as she delicately approached the sink and Hermione suddenly felt a little jealousy towards Fleur at her natural allure – an allure Hermione had tried so hard to create but simply did not possess. Quickly, turning back to her previous thoughts she admonished herself reminding her that Fleur had become a good friend to Hermione and it was simply silly to envy her. It was _she _Ron wanted anyway, wasn't it?

As Ron made a dash to the tea-cloth lying beside Hermione, he nervously smiled at Fleur and his mother.

"S'okay, I got it."

Looking up into his eyes, Hermione noticed that there was nothing tinging his sight but pure adoration and she felt her heart flutter.

Although Mrs Weasley seemed all too oblivious to the scene as she heaped down onto one of the kitchen chairs, wiping hopelessly at her slicked brow – Fleur smiled gently at the scene. Last summer Fleur was shocked to find that these two were not a couple; they acted so fluidly with one another, so instinctively. It was almost like a second nature to them. And when they fought – Fleur would watch with bated breath at the years of pent up sexual energy and tension which had accumulated and accumulated only to be unleashed in the form of an argument. Oh yes, Fleur had seen the passion between these two teenagers before but now they reflected an unmistakable, blinding _love_ for each other. Fleur had noticed hints of it at Shell Cottage but now she knew that she was not mistaken.

Ron bumped his hip gently against Hermione's and both laughed quietly, working together.

Mrs Weasley sighed resignedly from her seat. "Better start the tea, I suppose." She muttered tiredly; willing up the energy to stand and prepare a meal for over ten people. Noticing the exhaustion leaking from her voice, Hermione turned to face the dejected mother. Biting her lip nervously, she wracked her brains for some sort of excuse.

"Actually Mrs Weasley, err… Ginny and I were rather hoping that we could teach Ron and Harry erm… a few tricks around the kitchen this evening. We were planning on making a err… a-"

"A shepherd's pie, Mum. You know it's my favourite and 'Ermione insists I learn to cook it myself. I know… barmy this one, but I may as well give it a try, yeah?" Ron piped in valiantly, his chest puffed out in pride at the spew he'd just come up with, his vibrant blue eyes twinkling mischievously.

"Oui! I alzo thought Bill cooed 'elp. 'E is in need ov a lesson or duex, no?" Fleur added with a slightly nervous chuckle.

Mr Weasley, who had entered the kitchen only moments before nodded enthusiastically, placing a large palm on his wife's dropped shoulder. "That's a great idea, isn't it Molly? Maybe you could go up and lie down, take the weight of your feet, eh?" He encouraged quietly.

Looking quite torn from genuinely needing a lie down and yet the inability to detach herself from her domestic role, the emotions were written all over Mrs Weasley's face as she opened her mouth and closed it again, looking like a goldfish in a glass bowl while gazing between the children in front of her.

"Honestly Mum, it'll be fun watching Harry making a bollox out of himself trying to impress Ginny-"

"Language Ronald!"

&R/H&

Hermione peeked her head timidly around the thick oak doorframe of Ron's bedroom, not quite knowing whether she should go in or stay where she was. On his bed, Ron's long lanky body spread out on the feeble cot, his legs stretching at least 2 inches past the foot of the bed. Usually Hermione would enjoy her view from this vantage point, would admire the defined swell of his bicep under one of his old t-shirts, would sigh at his long, golden eyelashes sweeping gently across his cheek and would slowly trail her way down to become mesmerized by his full, pink lips.

However, his brow furrowed in concentration and his closed eyelids fluttered wearily. Hermione knew he was trying to get his head around the events of the past day. It had been a routine of his since the end of… well, the end of everything. Every evening, when Ron was resting he'd process what had happened that day. He processed the facts he knew and those which he did not. And every evening Ron had to remind himself that his brother had died, along with so many others – friends, order members, housemates, teachers.

"I had rather wondered where you'd gotten to."

His eyes fluttered open slowly, a grin painting its way across his lips as she smiled at him from across the room softly.

"Missin' me already, eh? Someone's keen," Ron teased slowly, his heart swelling for a second as she threw her eyes up to heaven. "Now get your fine arse over here before I have to make you!"

Despite feigning shock, Hermione couldn't deny the smile that was bubbling under the surface of her empty admonishments and she climbed across a field of limbs to get to him. Melting into his embrace, Hermione mused at the fact that Ron was always so warm – like her own personal, hot-water bottle. Sliding one leg down between his two butch ones, Ron wrapped his arms around her tiny waist, effectively pulling her to his hard chest and lay his lips softly against her forehead – exhaling, relieved. Hermione smiled placidly. She would never tire of this moment when she nuzzled something as insignificant as a raggedy old t-shirt and would suddenly become overwhelmed by the most enticing, comforting and familiar scent she had ever catalogued into her mind. The smell of that which was entirely _Ron._

They lay there for a while, just lazing in the comfort of each other until Ron's low, gravelly voice broke through the mutual silence.

"I wanted t'say thanks, 'Mione."

Ignoring his groan of protest as she broke away from his embrace, her rich, inquisitive eyes bore through his searching for a sign of what he could be alluding to.

"What you did for Mum, I mean. That was really good of you and I know she really appreciated it." His right hand trailed gently up and down her spine and she shivered at the sensation. Hermione shuffled back into his embrace, pressing herself to him before releasing slightly. "That was nothing, Ron. She deserves a break and plus it's the least I could do. She needs some taking care of too, now and again."

Squeezing her to him one last time, he carefully sat up against the flimsy headboard. "Enough of all this depressing talk for now, my head's goin' mad with it!" He huffed frustratingly. Hermione crossed a hand over to delicately sweep back the light baby hairs scattered around his scalp. "You shouldn't bottle thinks Ronald Weasley, or we'll never be able to focus on the future," His girlfriend spoke soothingly, knowing not to press too hard on the subject but as always with Hermione, there was a certain firmness behind the soft words.

_His girlfriend. _Merlin, how did he get so lucky? Here he was, Ron Weasley lying on his childhood bed in his childhood room – so violently orange, blindness was a genuine(ish) condition of spending too much time in there. And wrapped around him so tightly they were practically one person was, Hermione **fucking **Granger. He felt himself twitch slightly within the confines of his trousers as every one of his wanking fantasies came alive in this very situation. _Did she know? _He wondered. How much he wanted her? How much he had always wanted her?

In an attempt to convey the fierce love and devotion he felt for her in that moment of sheer clarity, he buried his face into her soft, wild hair.

"Fuckin' love you, 'Mione."


	2. One Small Step

**_A/N: _**_Hey everyone! Just wanted to say thanks a million to everyone who read Chapter 1 and especially to those of you who reviewed/followed the story – I really appreciate it! Would love your response to this chapter also. This chapter is slightly longer than the last - threw in my first dabble at smut near the end so I hope it fits and is to your liking. Once again, I own nothing but the story line and this was made purely for entertainment purposes._

**Chapter 2: Step One**

As the days progressed on, Ron and Hermione found that though they got to spend time with each other, it wasn't half as much as they'd been expecting. Although they hadn't exactly come out to the world about their relationship, everyone under the Burrow's roof seemed to just _know_, and for that they were unconditionally thankful. That was always the way with The Burrow. No secrets were ever kept. With all the boys' home for the week after Fred's funeral, Mr and Mrs Weasley were taking full advantage of the fruit of their vines.

On this particularly dull day, Ron and Harry had been assigned the loathsome task of de-gnoming the garden while Charlie and Bill were to assist in painting the exterior of the house – under strict dictation from Mrs Weasley, who was gradually building more and more energy to manage the tasks which had always come so naturally to her. As the boys' had been assigned outdoor duties under the muggy, overcast sky, the girls' were to help in the cleaning of the interior of the house. Mrs Weasley knew that the amount of guests who had been sashaying in and out of the house was only to increase after the initial mourning period of the first week and she wanted the house to be at its best. She wanted to show that they didn't need money to cope through a loss as significant as this. All the Weasley's needed was each other.

"Bloody fuckin' hell – GET BACK HERE Y'LITTLE JAMMY BASTARD!" Ron bellowed after the unsympathetic gnome, sniggering as it hobbled hurriedly off through the sea of thick, tall golden wheat which gently wavered under the early summer breeze. Slumping down on the ground next to a bemused Harry, he ignored the shit-eating grin that was spread across his best friends face at the sight of Ginny traipsing across the garden to where her mother stood, hands on hips, hollering up at her two eldest sons. "Merlin's bollox Harry, spare me the lovesick puppy-dog act – over my brat of a sister none the less!" Harry slung a dead weight fist against Ron's arm, smiling so happily he was afraid he may just explode and that would only add to Mrs Weasley's cleaning!

"Don't you start with me, Ronniekins! Have you seen Hermione lately? I expect you have seeing as you're practically glued to her, you prat!" Ron scoffed under the mirthful gaze of Harry, a smile stretching across his lips. Both couldn't help but let out the jubilant chortles that had been bubbling under the surface for the past week.

Due to the hectic nature of preparations for the funeral, preparations to go to the funerals of others, etc., Ron and Harry hadn't had time to talk. Of course, they talked every day about everything and anything but they hadn't had this kind of time they had needed to _really _talk. Though both had approached it various different times as they lounged in bed at night, neither could really communicate what they wanted to be communicated. But both had been polite enough to ignore the shuddering shoulders, or choked breaths that they couldn't help but let overcome them at the thoughts of so much tragedy.

Shielding his eyes from the glare of the unapparent sun, Harry looked down at Ron's hunched shoulders.

"You alright, mate?"

Ron's head snapped up so quickly he could feel the stretch of the muscle there. A goofy smile broke over his face but never reached his eyes. "'Course I am, mate! We're all gettin' there, eh?" He gave one soft chuckle, but his smile had already dropped off his face and his brow crinkled as he concentrated on his twiddling thumbs.  
"It's alright to admit that you're sad, Ron. We all are." Harry said, dropping down beside him.

Raising his eyes to meet his friends briefly, Ron reached behind him and began rubbing his damp neck, slick with evidence of their manual labour. "Christ Harry, 'course I'm sad. Aren't we all? But I can't think about it every fuckin' minute of every fuckin' day or I'll just burst, y'ano? It's not easy to remind yourself that your big brother is dead."  
Harry nodded encouragingly.  
"I know what you mean. I know it was two years ago but I still feel like that about Sirius. Expecting him to just stroll by at any second, I mean. It's hard but it's true what they say about time… it does help."

Ron nodded stiffly, not quite feeling like Harry really did understand though. He didn't want to seem like a slick git, but it was true (though disgustingly harsh) about what he had told Harry before. Harry didn't know what it was like to have a family – to worry for them, to want to kill them, to miss them. And although Ron would never want to trade his life for Harry's… _well not anymore, at least_… Harry didn't know what it felt like to have siblings and then, to lose them. It was then that Ron wondered if he'd ever feel whole again.

"And I expect Hermione is helping a great deal." Harry piped in, mockingly.

Ron's face lit up at that. It was true. Hermione had been his rock this whole time. Whilst she'd always been his rock, she'd never known it until they'd finally gotten together. It was all a bit overwhelming when Ron thought about it, about finally being with her and being able to kiss her and hold her and tell her that he loved her, just because he felt like it. He didn't think he'd ever get used to it. It was all far too surreal. And though he wasn't being anything but overly cautious about the physical side of things, he knew the emotional side of their relationship had really thrived over the past few days and he knew that made Hermione happy. She had a thing about him letting her in and when he finally broke down and cried in front of her while she soothingly ran her hair through his soft tresses and whispered softly into his ear, she'd almost felt relieved. She felt relieved that finally he was going to let her in and this was going to be what she'd always wanted with him – a real relationship.

Harry broke through the reverie Ron had been enraptured in. "And for what it's worth mate, I just want you to know that I'm happy for you both. I mean, you totally, 100% took your time finalizing it but I reckon you did it on your own terms and that means more than just jumping in for the hell of it. It's always been you for her, you know. And I know for a fact she's always been it for you, you blithering idiot! If I have to hear you mumble her name in your sleep one more time I'm going to-"

"Tell _me_?"

The smile was instantly wiped off Ron's face, his body stiffening instinctively at the unmistakable sound of her light, sarcastic voice and he winced at the thought of her overhearing their quite private conversation. _Nothing's ever been 'private' from Hermione, you prat! She's always known everythin' before you!"_

Harry snickered at the evident flush appearing on Ron's ears and neck.

"Mrs Weasley says lunch should be ready soon, so you best go in and wash up." Hermione spoke in that bossy, dominating voice she'd always used over her two best friends, but there was a certain air of humour embedded behind the words now. "I'll go get Ginny and be straight in!" Harry called, already jumping to his feet and jogging across the field while waving back in acknowledgment of Hermione's message.

"How's your day going?" Hermione asked lightly, padding over to take Harry's vacated position beside Ron. He smiled down at her close proximity to his body and leaned into her gently. "Goin' good. Bloody gnomes are a fuckin' nightmare t'day though! Don't ask me how but they seem t'get worse as the years go on!"

"Honestly Ron, can't you get through one sentence without swearing?" She admonished him, elbowing him sternly in the lungs.  
"Ouch! Really, Hermione? Your idea to stop gettin' me t'swear is by physical abuse? See any irony there, pot?" Ron laughed at Hermione's defiant face.  
"Watch it you or I'll make sure your next task is to de-cobweb the shed!"  
Hermione giggled uncharacteristically as she watched Ron's face instantly drop, turning to a gaunt ghostly pale.  
"You and Mum – the pair of you are out to kill me!"

&R/H&

After lunch Ginny decided it was she who was to accompany Harry outside and finish de-gnoming the garden while Ron took up her job of helping around the house. Having finished lunch, both Ron and Hermione cleaned the dishes once more and Fleur busied about beside them putting away things that Ron was sure she'd already put away once before. He had a gut feeling that Mrs Weasley had put her up to this, to chaperoning himself and his girlfriend in case he somehow accidently got her pregnant while handing her a dish to dry. In fact he _knew _Mrs Weasley was scheming as she had conveniently found herself a job that involved being outside next to Harry and Ginny at all times. Barmy, that one was!

Ron allowed his slippery fingers brush against Hermione's for longer than necessary while passing her yet another cooking utensil. Fleur had vacated the room only moments before and Ron intended on taking full advantage of the privacy. Even at that slightest touch, his mind burst with memories and fantasies involving himself and Hermione and he had to will himself to calm down. It wasn't that he was a old randy git who wanted to get into the knickers of any female he came across; he was just a randy old git for her. I mean – could anyone really blame him? He'd spent a good four years imagining how soft her skin felt like, how her breathy moans would sound, how her high, round tits would look exposed before his very eyes. And now that all these could be a distinct possibility, there was no stopping the raging hard on he could grow after a mere brush against her backside.

Ron wasn't all to blame, however. Hermione had secretly been hoping they would get some alone time this afternoon. Although she agreed with Ron's unspoken suggestion that they allow the physical side of their relationship to progress slowly, there was one side of her that wanted him to gather up every purely masculine fibre in his being, throw her over his shoulder and ravish her for hour after hour.

She shook her head firmly, trying to escape the hormonal war raging in her head as he slid his slippery, wet fingers through hers briefly and looking up at him she knew he was feeling the same thing. Just because they were taking things slowly didn't mean they couldn't do _anything_, now did it?

She knew they couldn't very well sneak upstairs for an hour to indulge in each other with everyone in the house, though she desperately wanted to. Sensing her vexation, Ron leaned down noticeably and closed the distance between them. His lips landed on hers firmly and she knew exactly what this kiss was telling her.

_Soon._

&R/H&

Having played three sufficiently humiliating games of Wizards Chess with Ron, Harry and Ginny, Hermione decided she rather fancied a walk. Ron wholeheartedly acquiesced and decided he too would join her, while Ginny and Harry watched on smugly. So it came to be that Ron and Hermione strolled along the outskirts of the wheat fields in the very nearly darkness, hand in hand. Lacing his fingers through hers meekly, Ron's big feet bounded twice as fast as Hermione who was teetering a little behind, until Ron came to a large cherry blossom tree that hung nobly over the side of the lake, the water glinting tranquilly with the white light of the moon. Falling down at the thick bark of the trunk, Ron pulled Hermione with him and several minutes later she was conveniently sitting in between his lap, both of them staring out at the ridged water.

"Do you come out here often?" Hermione questioned quietly. She watched the gentle movements of the water while Ron focused on playing with their fingers.  
"Not really… used to, a lot. Haven't had much time over the past year, have we?" He smiled sadly and Hermione lay her head on his chest, stretching up to look at him. He wouldn't meet her eye and she sighed softly, nestling deeper into his warm embrace in an attempt to shield herself from the cold she knew was begging to stir inside her. Turning in his lap, so her body now faced him she detached her hand from his and brought both of them to cradle his neck. She met his eye determinedly.

"I love you, Ron. You know that don't you?" Hermione questioned, pulling a little on the fine hairs at the back of his neck so he'd look at her. His big cerulean eyes flickered to one of hers, then the other and it shone with dampness.

"I know." He rumbled deeply, his voice clogged with emotion. _Fuck, _he didn't deserve her.

"And I'm not going to leave you, you know that too?" As soon as she'd said the words, Hermione wish she could take them back. His body stiffened as it did only when he was at his utmost discomfort and his face fell, self-loathing stirring in his gut.  
"The way I left you, y'mean?"

The icy words slit right to her core and she gasped as she saw _her _Ron; her sweet, good Ron transform into this other person right before her eyes.  
"Ron, you know that's not what I meant." She said firmly, but all the tugging of hair in the world couldn't do anything for he would no longer look at her.  
"I know. But it's what they fuckin' should mean." Hermione gasped at the creases in _her _Ron's face as that pained expression she'd only witnessed on a handful of occasions spread across his innocent features. And she knew then, that this was always going to be a problem between them – this hatred he possessed for the crime he once committed. It would always cause a rift between them if she did not address it now.

"Ronald Weasley, look at me this instant." She practically growled, tugging on his hair so roughly she thought she might have torn some out.

Half-scared, Ron raised his gaze to meet hers and she softened to see several thick tears running slowly down his face.  
"Ron, listen to me and I mean **really **listen to me, because after this I never want to have this conversation again. Am I making myself quite clear?" Ron nodded.  
"Good. Ron, when you left-" He winced sharply but never dropped his gaze from hers.

"When you left, I felt as if something inside me had snapped – as if you had taken me with you and all that was left was this hollow shell. Admittedly, I thought I might have gone mad. I've never seen so much darkness or felt so little than in those first days. Though things never really improved, I began to welcome the days when I felt hurt because Merlin – at least I was _feeling _something! And then you came back and I was incredibly relieved and thankful and I wanted to burst out and hug you and kiss you and _love _you. But then I realized how central you were, _are_ to my happiness and I retreated. I saw how I was without you and quite frankly, it was pathetic. Here am I, Hermione Granger, a girl who prides herself on controlling the mind and yet all of that goes spinning out of control the minute you step out of the room. I was angry, you see? Yes, partly at you for leaving, but mostly at me! I was angry because despite everything you put me through, I didn't have a choice in the matter. My heart had forgiven you the moment I saw that ginger hair and those deep, blue eyes. That's always how it's going to be for me, Ron. I don't have a choice but to love you – it's embedded in who I am."

Tears now unabashedly sliding down his full cheeks, he pulled Hermione to him and buried his face in her neck while she hushed and rocked him.

"I'm sorry, 'Mione. I'm so sorry. I'll never leave you again."

The stayed like that for several minutes, and she gasped when he pulled away fiercely, only to return in that same moment. Raising his face to hers, he kissed her hard on the mouth – his hands cupping her face while his thumbs gently rubbed circles at the apples of her cheeks. Not hesitating for a moment, he slid his tongue straight into her warm, wet cavern and she moaned unreservedly. Arching her back, Hermione pushed her breasts against his hard chest and lowered herself into the centre of his lap where the evidence of his love and lust for her brushed her jean clad thigh, fuelling the heat radiating from the depths of her womb. In a fierce battle to show each other just exactly how much they wanted one and other, teeth clashed, tongues were sucked, lips were nipped and Ron groaned as he ground himself against the gap in between her legs. Throwing her head back for a moment, Hermione moaned lowly and rocked her hips slowly against his.

"_Fuck_, 'Ermione. You're too good, luv." Ron's head was now jammed roughly against the scratchy bark of the tree as he watched his girlfriend from hooded eyes move over the blatant bulge in his jeans, biting her flushed lip and huffing at the same time.  
"I know it's pathetic, sweet'eart, but I'm not gonna last. I've been dreaming this for far too long." He groaned, squeezing his eyes shut. Hermione raised a hand to gently trace the outlines of his defined jaw, his succulent lips, his pert nose and she leaned down to place a fluttering kiss on each of his eye lids.

"Ron, look at me. There's something I want to show you."

With much force, Ron opened his eyes to see Hermione carefully unbuttoning her plaid shirt. Her eyes roamed over his face nervously, so he leaned up to kiss gently all the while leaving his hands to rest on hers. Pulling away, he snaked a hand up to hold her neck firmly and looked straight into the swirling pools of chocolate. "Don't do anything you don't want to do, 'Mione. I know I'm a randy fuckin' bugger, but I don't want to pressure you."

Hermione's insides melted even further and she knew that she wanted to give him this tiny, insignificant thing.

"I want you, Ron. As much as you want me." Emphasizing her point, she rolled her hips over his erection once more and he hissed fiercely. "But neither of us are ready to make any major decisions. So this isn't going to be a big deal. This is only one small step."  
She smiled up at him, willing up her Gryffindor strength and confidence and slid the last button from its hole, allowing the shirt to flutter open in the cool breeze and expose her plain cotton bra.

"Jeeeesus!" Ron hissed, knocking his head back against the bark of the tree as he ground against her – the tight confines of his heavy jeans almost starting to hurt him. "Fuckin' 'ell, Hermione!"

Before him, _sitting in his lap_, was the girl who had walked straight out of his fantasies. Hermione's milky skin of her long, elegant neck, her defined collarbone, her creamy chest all the way down to her flat, toned stomach were fully exposed to him bar a tiny, white strip of cotton and lace covering her high, perky tits. She whimpered softly now, her lips flushed and swollen and her eyes shut tightly while she huffed sharp breaths out of that perfect little mouth. Feeling the tightening from her womb, Hermione knew where this was going. Going with every gut instinct in his body, Ron quickly drew his hand across to cup her heavy breast, his thumb flicking over the hard pebble protruding from the confines of the cotton.

"Mmm Ron!" Hermione squeaked.

Spurred on by her appreciative moans, Ron leaned down and trailed sloppy, wet kisses from the corner of her mouth all the way up her jaw to her ear and sucked on her earlobe.  
"You are fucking **perfect**, Hermione Granger. Fucking perfect."

Hermione's hands secured themselves around Ron's neck while his mouth latched onto the flushed skin of her neck. Whimpering once more, she rose her hips and dropped them heavily back down against Ron's, enjoying the deep groan he allowed slip past his lips, vibrating against her sensitive neck as his thumb varied between tracing the outline of her right breast or running over the swollen nipple of her left. And then she suddenly couldn't take it anymore. The familiar stirrings which had been positively throbbing within her had grown so much she felt like she would explode if she didn't let go soon.

"Ron, I can't... I can't!" She squeaked desperately against his neck.

Swooping his lips down to her ear once more he whispered, "Too good 'Mione, luv. Not gonna last. Need you… to cum. Cum for me, 'Ermione."

Suddenly every stirring in her womb tightened beyond belief and something snapped and she was transported to this other world where all she could feel was the consistent thrusts of Ron against her and his lips sucking her nipple through the blasted bra and she was overwhelmed by his evoking every one of her senses.

Clinging desperately to his neck, Hermione bit down to stop herself from crying out; the waves inside her subsided and she lay limp against his chest. Looking up at her incredible Ron through doe-like eyes, she noticed his eyes looking anywhere but at her and the blissful smile that had donned her expression faded and all the self-consciousness and self-awareness of earlier came back to her. _What had she __**done**__? _Oh God! What was Ron going to think of her after that display? That she was nothing better than a common _tart_, a _scarlet woman_?

Tears welled up in her eyes as she scrambled to hold her shirt together and climb off Ron's lap. Stilling her movements, Ron's hand tightened around her hips.  
"Hey, hey where are you goin'? Be careful, 'Mione, I might start thinking you just used me t'get off!" He chuckled lightly. Hermione looked up, sharply and his grin dropped. "Hey, what's goin' on? Is something the matter?" Hermione sighed weakly, feeling his body stiffen and his uncomfortable demeanour.  
"I know you're not comfortable, Ron. I know that probably wasn't what you were expecting and I'm sorry for acting so _vulgarly_. I let my hormones and emotions get the better of me and I apologise for embarrassing the both of us." Hermione spat out the words like they were dirty. Refusing to meet his imploring gaze, she missed the fact that Ron's face looked just like he had been confunded.  
"What the bloody 'ell are you on about, you barmy witch?! That was the best sodding quarter of an hour of my life! Merlin, you really are fuckin' mental 'Mione, you know that? Brilliant and everythin' but fuckin' mental!" Ron exclaimed, both overjoyed and completely disbelieving.

Hermione's eyes shot up to search his and she straightened her shoulders defensively. "Well why wouldn't you look at me after I...? Well you know what I mean! You merely looked embarrassed and ashamed!" Hermione spoke fiercely but inside her heart clenched tightly and she felt a pang of familiar pain. Ron let out a low laugh, reaching a hand to scratch the back of his neck while his ears flared.  
"Well thing is, 'Mion— err, I mean _Hermione_, I just, well it's just that—I mean to say that-"

"Oh for goodness sake Ron, spit it out!"

"I came alright?! Jesus Hermione, there's only so much a bloke can take! I wanted to make this about you but you—you're just so _fucking beautiful _and grinding against me and Merlin's fuckin' nutsack it's only that I've been wanking off to scenarios like this for the past **forever **and then you let me touch your _tits _and bite my neck and shit 'Ermione, what the bleedin' 'ell was I supposed to do?! Don't laugh at me Hermione, this isn't funny!"

Despite herself and Ron's discomfort, Hermione couldn't help but raise a hand to her mouth in the attempt to stifle the hysterical giggles that were bubbling their way up her throat until they were out of her mouth and out of control. Throwing her head back gleefully, the ripples of laughter coursed through her body and she bellowed them out into the cool night air.

"Oh Ron, Ron I'm sorry… I don't mean to laugh at you it's just—it's just…" Cutting herself off, Hermione slowed her breaths until soon they had returned to normal and she raised a hand to press against Ron's hot cheek. "It's just, I've been wanting to do this for so long too, and I just thought after your reaction that this wasn't what _you _wanted and all my anxiety just seems so redundant now!"

Smiling goofily up at her, Ron leaned into her palm and allowed himself to let out several relieved chortles of his own and Hermione stroked the back of his neck softly. Nestled against each other, both found that if this was just the first step of things they were most certainly looking forward to divulging in the _other_ activities.

"Just so you know, you look bloody fuckin' hot when you cum!"

"Ronald!"


	3. Part of the Family

**_A/N: _**_Hey guys! As always I'd like to start by thanking everyone who read, followed and most of all reviewed the story – it really does mean so much and I couldn't be more appreciative. This chapter, while easy on the smut, I felt had to be written just to continue the progression of Ron and Hermione's relationship. It mostly focuses on Hermione discovering her role and importance in The Burrow and it ties in with my schemes for the next chapter ;) However it is extremely heartfelt and warming so I hope you enjoy it! Don't worry though; there will definitely be A LOT more compromising situations for Ron and Hermione in the near future. Remember – reviews are always welcome! Enjoy! _

**Chapter 3: Part of the Family**

"Is there somethin' on your mind, luv?"

Standing by the sturdy table in The Burrow's kitchen, Ron watched as his girlfriend threw her second consecutive carrot in the bin, rather than the vegetable peelings themselves. All evening Hermione had been quiet, but now she was positively in another world. Staring up at her face, Ron noticed a gleam to her eyes – but not the sort he was used to. This gleam shimmered with concentration, determination and most of all worry.

"Talk t'me, Hermione. What's goin' on, eh?" Ron placed his half peeled potato to one side and gently brushed his hand against hers. Snapping out of her reverie, Hermione took a moment to locate herself before smiling softly up at Ron's concerned face. He watched as she instinctively straightened her shoulders and her back, the way she always did when she was about to defend herself. Ron knew she meant business.

"Oh it's nothing really, I've just been thinking. I've been thinking about my parents." All the while Hermione masked the vulnerability of the subject by quickly sheering the last of the vegetables and placing them neatly in the brass pot Mrs Weasley had left out for them. It was funny how little she thought about her muggle roots while staying at The Burrow. It had only been recently she'd felt that underlying niggle really begin to develop into an overwhelming sense of homesickness and she couldn't deny it any longer. She needed to find her parents.

Ron subtly studied the look on her placid face. Merlin, she was beautiful. But that thought only rested at the back of his mind as his brows knitted together trying to decipher the puzzle before him, the puzzle that had always tested him the most – _Hermione. _  
"Oh yeah?" He prompted deliberately, a sort of restraint to his voice.

"Yes. I've been thinking that it's time I look into their… circumstances."

Ron knew what she meant by this. He knew that there was a chance her parents were not alive. He knew that, although she was the greatest witch of their age, the Death Eaters were so much more powerful together and there was a possibility that they had tracked her parents down. She was one of the most wanted witches in the country, after all. They'd have found anyway they could to get at her. Of course, her parents were the main tie to that. Stilling herself briefly, Hermione took in a deep breath to steady herself. Ron felt himself melting slightly and he wrapped a large palm around the back of her neck.

"Hermione, we don't know for definite that they're—"

"—I know, Ron. But I can't think the worst right now. I need to be strong, and if being strong means I need to disconnect from my primal female emotions right now then that is what I will have to do. I'm not naïve, Ron. I know that there's only but a chance that they're still… but that's what I'm holding onto until we know otherwise."

In an attempt to deny the dampness building up behind her eyes, Hermione refused to meet his imploring gaze. She wasn't shutting him out, but she just couldn't break down right now. She needed to keep the willpower she had so strongly built up over the years and use it to her every advantage. Grabbing her wand, she levitated the pot and carefully allowed it to hover over the sink, before flicking the dirty skins away and effectively cleaning the table.

The house was quiet. Mr Weasley and Percy had returned to the Ministry, where support was needed now more than ever. They'd been working fiercely long and tiresome hours but neither complained. Fleur and Bill had returned to Shell Cottage the previous evening and Charlie apparated to Romania that very morning. Harry had decided to visit little Teddy for the first time since tragedy struck the poor baby's life and Ginny and Mrs Weasley had popped into the local village, Ottery St. Catchpole, to pick up some groceries; leaving Ron and Hermione alone. Neither however had missed the weary look in Mrs Weasley's eye as she informed them they wouldn't be more than fifteen minutes. Hermione, for the life of her, couldn't contain the giggle rising in her throat at the older woman's insinuation – which wasn't helped by Ron's biting on his cheek to stifle the comedy of the situation.

Instead of enchanting the broom to sweep up the dust of the floor, Hermione reached for it and completed the task the muggle way which Ron knew she only did when she was edgy or upset.

"Honestly, Ron just say _something_. Your silence is making me tetchy." Ron stood up from the table and stilled the jerky movements of the broom.

"I'll say somethin', but Merlin 'Ermione stop with the bloody sweepin'! Just _sit down_, alright?" The sympathy in his voice wasn't missed and Hermione's shoulders slumped as she quietly did what she was told. Flicking at the estimated location of the teapot, Ron leaned his back against the sink and watched his girlfriend look almost frail in her position by the table, her arms cradled around her almost to protect the vulnerability she had always been afraid to show. She'd lost a lot of weight over the last year; the bones of her hips popped out where usually they'd be smoothened over with soft curves, the swell of her full breasts lost in the oversized jumper she wore in an attempt to mask her self-consciousness. He suddenly felt a surge of protectiveness for the broken creature in front of him, a passion to protect and shield her from any more bad that could come from the world. Fidgeting desperately with her hands, Hermione's eyes remained concentrated on the knotting and unknotting of her fingers.

"I think we should go to the Ministry. I think we should talk to Kingsley and sort this out." Ron finally piped up as the shrill steam from the kettle howled out loudly. Allowing his magic organize a cup of tea for Hermione, he didn't even watch as the tea bag dropped into a mug of its own accord while the boiling water poured in on top of it, followed by the milk.

For the first time since the start of the conversation, Hermione met Ron's gaze hopefully.

"We?"

"Of course, _we. _What part of 'I won't leave you alone again' don't you understand, 'Ermione? You don't have to go through it all alone, y'know. I _want _to be with you." Ron stated as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, but to Hermione a burdensome weight had been lifted from her shoulders and her heart felt a little lighter. Hermione welcomed it the floating mug of boiling hot tea with open arms, smiling like a little girl. The restlessness and worry was still there, she couldn't deny it – could never deny it, but a part of her felt lighter because she wasn't going to go through all of this alone. _Ron _would be with her.

As if on cue, Mrs Weasley and Ginny bustled through the doors – a never ending series of floating brown paper bags following in tow. Eyeing them suspiciously, Mrs Weasley determined that nothing bad had come from their being alone and her tone warmed much more than that of her initial greetings.

&R/H&

Perched around the table with the family (minus George, who had retired to his apartment above the shop in Diagon Alley) The Burrow was filled with a sense of comfort which had been lacking for what seemed like such a long time. Mrs Weasley had prepared a feast, as she did every evening, and everyone sat around scoffing on second helpings of pudding and chattering happily about their day. Sitting at the top of the table, Hermione engaged Mr Weasley and Percy in a rather vivacious conversation about the muggle education system in Britain. However, as Percy was distracted by determinedly refusing another portion of a quite insistent Mrs Weasley's dessert, Hermione took it as her opportunity to speak to Mr Weasley, privately.

"Mr Weasley, I'd rather wondered if I may speak to you about something, something important." Hermione stated as more of a question while Mr Weasley peered down at her through kind eyes and with that good natured smile she so often saw in Ron. He was so much like his father.

"Of course, Hermione. Is there something I can do for you?"

"Well it's just I was hoping I could accompany you to the Ministry tomorrow, myself and Ron actually. There's something I'd quite like to bring to Minister Shacklebolt's attention and I'm afraid I need his help."

Furrowing his thick brows together, the grin so often frequented on Mr Weasley's face slipped and he looked concerned. "Hermione, is there something you need to speak to myself and Molly about? Is there something we could help with? You know you're like a daughter to us, Hermione. You can always talk to us." The edges of Hermione's lips curled up briefly, though she couldn't quite bring herself to smile. Of course she'd always felt like a part of the family and they'd never given her any idea to doubt that, but the fact of the matter was that they were not her biological family, and she needed her family now more than ever. Hermione was well aware that there was going to be nothing easy about this task, but she couldn't give up. And if there was one thing Hermione Granger was definitely not, it was a quitter.

"Mr Weasley, please know that I really do appreciate your offer. But I'm afraid this is something that needs a team of specialists. It's about finding my parents and locating them as soon as possible. I've left it long enough as it is, and I'm not sure I can wait much longer." Hermione confided, banishing the tears prickling the corners of her eyes with the firmness and determination in her heart.

Pushing his plate in front of him, Mr Weasley joined his hands and turned to look at her, seriously. "Hermione, I don't mean to be cruel and I want to approach this subject as delicately as I possibly can… but, there is a chance that your parents may not be…"

"I know, sir. And if that is the case, the only way I will be able to find out is with the help of the Ministry."

Watching her with great resolve, Mr Weasley noted the look of steadfastness and insistence in her eyes and he knew this was something she'd thought long and hard about. He chided himself, knowing that this was Hermione. She would not have come to him with this proposition had she not thought it through lucidly.

"Well then of course, Hermione. We will be leaving at 8am sharp. Though I don't doubt you, I wish you all the luck in the world trying to heave that one out of bed!" Mr Weasley exclaimed nodding his head recognizably over at Ron who was currently shovelling his third helping of pudding down his throat, the corners of his lips smeared with chocolate. And with Mr Weasley's note of humour, Hermione knew that the conversation was over and that in twenty-four hours she would know the fate of her parents.

&R/H&

"I spoke to your Dad today, you know." Hermione said weakly, curled into Ron's side in front of the fireplace in the sitting room. It was late and mostly everyone had retired to bed for the evening, though Ron harboured the theory that Harry had snuck into Ginny's room.

"Oh, yeah? What about?" Nuzzling his chin deeper into her hair, he placed an idle kiss on the wild curls and through the layers and layers of frizz she still felt the warmth of it.

"About going to the Ministry tomorrow actually, about both of us going." Hermione explained; her eyes fluttering closed as Ron continued his descent down the supple skin of her neck placing lingering kiss every move. Hermione breathed a sigh of yearning as Ron continued to make her heart quiver, and for a moment all she wanted was to forget the emotional war raging in her head, the denial of the fact that her parents could very well be dead. Despite herself, a salty haze began to obstruct her view and she shivered, allowing the first heavy bead to trail down her hollow cheeks. Feeling the jerky pants of her breath, Ron lifted his head and was shocked to find tears streaming down Hermione's face.

"Hermione, what is it? What's the matter, luv?" Enveloping his arms around her, one of Ron's hands snaked up into her hair and brought her face to rest in the crook of his neck as he gently rocked her back and forth. He whispered sweet nothings into her ear and peppered her forehead and hair with kisses, doing anything he could to stop her crying for watching Hermione crumble had the very same effect on his heart.

"What if they're dead, Ron? What if what I did wasn't enough and the Death Eaters got to them already?" Hermione sobbed, her tiny, fragile body shuddering violently against his firm chest.

"Then we'll deal with it, together. But you can't think the worst now, alright? 'Ermione look at me." Ron demanded but his resolve weakened considerably as she raised her chocolate eyes clouded over with thick, salty tears to his. His hands encased her beautiful face and she leaned into the warmth of his palm. "You did everythin' you could in your power to protect them. You are the greatest witch of our age, and you're bloody brilliant! You performed a spell witches and wizards who have been studying magic for a bleedin' eternity couldn't do with such perfection. You ignored your own needs just to make sure they were safe. D'you know how strong that makes you? It makes you stronger than any other witch out there. So no matter what we find out tomorrow, we'll get through it 'cause if you're that strong by yourself, luv, you'll be doubly strong with me."

Shaking with happiness, Hermione's tears only increased as she pinned Ron's head to hers with her little hand. "I love you so much, Ronald Weasley." She whispered; her eyes closing as she kissed him gently.

Ron was first to pull away, noting the fact that she was in an extremely vulnerable and feeble place right now and needed his support emotionally rather than physically. He'd be damned if he rushed into being physical when she was on the brink of discovering whether or not her parents were dead. But just to quench any possible self-consciousness she may have been feeling, Ron dropped a kiss onto her forehead and she smiled meekly up at him.

"C'mon you, let's get you t'bed. We have a big day in the morning and you're goin' to need your sleep." Ron announced, untangling himself from her and the couch and stretching as he got to his feet. However, the susceptibility never quite left her eyes.

"Ron, do you think we could just stay here tonight? Just for one night, I promise. I just don't think I can be alone." Hermione questioned tenderly, wrapping an arm around her middle to shield herself from the possible blow of rejection. Hating that it was his previous fuck ups that had made her expect the worse, he kicked himself before nodding slightly. "Of course."

And with that he dragged the knitted throw off one of the arm chairs, kicked off his shoes and slipped back onto the couch. Hermione curled right into him and he couldn't help but revel in the fact that this was their first _proper _time sleeping together since they'd gotten together and there was something innately intimate about that fact. Snuggling deep down under the patch-work quilt he was overwhelmed by her scent, her warmth and the fact that her lips lingered on the joining of his neck and shoulders where her head nestled gently. She slipped one leg through his hefty thighs and slunk it down to tangle in his. And though they were fully dressed and in his living room (_for Christ's sake) _Ron thought: if this was how sleeping with Hermione was going to be like every night he'd very gladly do it for the rest of his life.

&R/H&

Snuggled into Ron's side, Hermione couldn't deny the prodigious warmth that spread through her body every time he exhaled and her forehead was hit with jets of the warm moisture of his sweet breath. Huddled into his side, Hermione was overpowered by the rich scent of him – burning its way through her nose, to her brain where she catalogued it for the millionth time over the past years. It hadn't changed much – his scent. Hermione merely found that as time wore on she became more discerning of it, it started to mean so much more to her which she had evidently learned from the amortentia potion in her fifth year. And though she couldn't sleep, she suffered no discomfort aside from the grievances about her parents rooted deep at the bottom of her heart. Shrugging the quilt off, Hermione unravelled herself from Ron's tender side and let her feet carry her to the kitchen with the concept of making a nice cup of camomile tea to settle her heart and her mind and give her the rest she desperately needed in order to function properly tomorrow.

Sometimes doing things the muggle way seemed to calm Hermione, but she couldn't deny the nostalgic bile rise up in her throat as she filled the clunky, brass kettle by the tap.

"Couldn't sleep either then, eh?"

Hermione jumped right out of her skin, shrieking at the sudden disturbance of the peace of the kitchen. How had she missed the fiery red hair and the fluffy pink dressing gown that had become so familiar to her? Sitting in the corner of the kitchen, staring out of the window longingly was Ginny Weasley.

"Merlin, Ginny! You frightened the living daylights out of me!" Hermione exclaimed, clutching at her racing heart in an attempt to still the expeditious beats.  
"Did I? Sorry, Hermione."  
Ginny smiled at her affectionately, her eyes only lasting on Hermione's a moment before retreating to their position by the window.

"What time is it?"

"About half two I'd say. Been up long?"

"I haven't slept a wink, actually." Hermione confessed forlornly, feeling her chest swell considerably and her eyes well up with tears. _Haven't you cried enough today, you silly girl! _Hermione scolded herself and she could feel Ginny's sight rest on her as she turned and placed the kettle back on the hot stove.

"I know you're going to the Ministry tomorrow. I heard Dad tell Mum after dinner."

Hermione continued on attending to the teapot with her back to Ginny to hide the distressed tears threatening to bubble over any second. She nodded weakly, just so Ginny knew she was still listening. Ginny emerged from her nook in the corner of the kitchen and placed a tender hand on Hermione's back. "We're all here for you, you know. I know we're not your real family, but you're as good as a sister to me Hermione, and another daughter to Mum and Dad. They really love you. And I promise you, no matter what happens we will all work it out together. Because that's what families do. And you're a Weasley whether you like it or not – always have been I reckon, much to Ron's delight." Spinning slowly around to a winking Ginny, Hermione choked out a laugh and melted into the girls embrace. They stood like that for a moment, just hugging and Hermione was enveloped into a moment of insight where she couldn't have been more grateful that it was Ron Weasley and Harry Potter she had met on the train that very first day of Hogwarts so many years ago.

"You've become one of my closest friends, Ginny. I owe you so much." Hermione admitted through her clogged throat. Pulling away briefly, Ginny looked up at Hermione and shook her head.

"Nonsense – family don't owe eachother anything! That's the beauty of family; you can milk them for all they're worth and they can't do anything about it." Ginny teased, nudging Hermione softly in the ribs as both folded into a fit of laughter that bounced off the echoing walls of the little kitchen they both loved so much.

&R/H&

"You ready t'do this, then?" Ron asked the following morning, nervously meeting Hermione's eyes as he slipped his bulky hand into her little delicate one. Hermione pushed her shoulders back and straightened her neck, a fierce determination darkening her eyes.

"Yes. Let's do this."


	4. The Ministry and Undeniable Inferno

**_A/N: _**_Hi all! Just a quick note to say yes, there is (some) smut – as promised! However I did intend to further proceed with this particular Ron and Hermione encounter, I didn't want to present you all with a hundred pages on the pair of them __**finally**__ doing something other than mere grinding so I've decided to save that for the next chapter or two. Again, I'd like to say thank you to those who have reviewed and read the story. I really appreciate your continued support and hope that you enjoy this chapter as much as the others! Unfortunately, I own nothing besides this particular story-line. Until next time! _

**Chapter 4: The Ministry and Undeniable Inferno**

The main entrance to the Ministry was deserted. Though both Ron and Hermione knew there were many people working within to restore it to its former glory; no one but themselves, Percy and Mr Weasley were present in the hollow dwelling. Hermione was startled by its appearance. She had known very well that it would not be at its best but never had she thought it was going to seem so broken. Everything within the glass and marble hall was tarnished, cracked, crumbling. The black mirrored walls were deeply fractured, the bay windows of offices either shattered or completely missing altogether. The charcoal and burgundy brick of the back walls were splintered, debris of rubble cluttered along the sides and in the very middle where once stood a proud, noble fountain and more recently a repulsive statue accentuating the inferiority of muggles - stood absolutely nothing.

"Bit bleak, eh?" Ron mumbled quietly, turning his head to look around him only to be disappointed and disheartened further – the noise of their plodding footsteps resonating sharply throughout the void. Hermione merely hummed in agreement and followed on the coattails of Mr Weasley and Percy, who clearly were unfazed by this revelation.  
"Do you think Kingsley will see us right away, then?" Ron added, bounding forward – his face clouded with tension and nervousness. Smiling weakly up at him, Hermione squeezed his hand tightly before letting it go once more and he remained silent for the rest of the walk.

Despite the overall dilapidation of the place, the magical elevators were still very much intact. The four of them, joined by a colleague of Arthur and Percy's, squeezed into one cramped space and clung for dear life as it took one mighty lunge before hurling them into oblivion. Scrambling to hold onto something, Hermione found her arms clutching Ron's torso to her firmly and even though it was completely inappropriate and improper; Hermione couldn't deny the flare of heat in her gut. As Mr Weasley chattered happily away to his colleagues, Ron stared down his nose at Hermione and she could tell by his smouldering eyes that he felt the familiar sizzling inferno flicker between them. It had always been there; that flame. However, usually it was expressed through fury or anger. Now that Hermione had discovered _other _ways to quench the nefarious temptation (well ways that didn't involve her fingers and further frustration) she was finding it more difficult to resist jumping him in public.

"This is us, kids!" Mr Weasley announced, completely ignorant of the impassionate display playing out between his son and his son's girlfriend.

Disentangling herself from him, Hermione leapt across the elevator, engaging in a more civil conversation with Percy and trying to stay well away from the fiery-headed temptation that she positively craved. Feeling rather flushed himself, Ron took a minute to allow his ears and neck (and other somewhat _southerly_ areas of his body) to cool off before following with his father at a casual pace.

_What in the bloody fuckin' hell are you playin' at mate?! This is Hermione's day! A __**HUGE **__day for her. You've kept it in long enough, what's the problem with t'day, eh?!  
_Ron rebuked himself while swiftly picking up the conversation with Mr Weasley once more. Ron continued along the natural progression of the winding black and purple carpets that, regardless of the odd slash or unravelled piece of fabric, remained uncannily similar to the immaculate carpet that haunted so many of his memories and dreams. In front, Hermione had worn her best white blouse and pink cardigan to match her simple skirt. She wanted to display a sense of professionalism and elegance today. Whether or not she was a complete wreck, she didn't feel showing that off would be putting her best foot forward in coaxing Kingsley to bring her plans to fruition. Today was about proficiency and competence – all of which Hermione Granger possessed. She **would not **allow her emotions to get the better of her, absolutely no way.

Ron braced himself as he watched, yet again, the straightening of Hermione's neck and back and he automatically thought for the amount of times a day she did that it must really get at her. However this thought was quickly replaced by the observation of her creamy neck and the defined and graceful joint between that of her neck and shoulders and he was a dead man. Before he could process another thought Percy was waving his goodbyes and they were stood in front of a huge, mahogany door.

"Here we are, then. Are you ready to go through, Hermione?" Mr Weasley asked kindly, smiling sympathetically at the woman before him.

Looking up to Ron once with steely brown eyes and a firm lip she nodded once. "Absolutely."

&R/H&

"So, what you're saying is…?"

Behind his bulky, ostentatious desk Kingsley nodded once definitely. "Yes, Monica and Wendell Wilkins are very much alive. They are down in records as being owners and operatives of a marginally successful bait shop in Perth and have listed no children or known relatives to their name."

Hermione let out a gasp, clinging to Ron's bulky arm in the chair beside her – relief washing over her body.

Mr Weasley smiled prudently at the young couple beside him, happiness and love radiating from them and the news of which they had just received, however part of him knew that nothing was going to be as simple as it seemed and if he knew the Minister, his _friend_ as well as he thought he did, Arthur knew that there was a whole lot more to be discussed.

"Kingsley, thank you ever so much. I really can't express my gratitude and well, relief." Hermione breathed out eagerly. Kingsley's warm smiled wavered slightly and as Hermione noticed, her enthusiasm deflated slightly.

"Miss Granger, performing an obliviate spell on two mature _muggle _adults was an extremely dangerous and damaging undertaking. I'm afraid there is more to merely finding your parents and undoing the spell. Our world may be at risk if this isn't dealt with, with the utmost delicacy, do you understand? Of course, your parents were well aware of the trials and tribulations of the wizarding world when their daughter was a part of it – however Monica and Wendell Wilkins have no recollection of anything of the sort. Both of your parents have gone through much, Hermione. There is a slight risk that if this is not dealt with carefully and appropriately, your parents could suffer." Kingsley looked between Ron and Hermione gravely; watching as they individually digested what he had just had to say.

One could almost watch the wheels in Hermione's head spinning frenziedly as a thousand questions instantly popped into her head. However, what surprised everyone in the room was that it was Ron to speak first.

"You say suffer? Suffer, how?"

Kingsley leaned back in his chair, raising his hands to bridge carefully before them and, as he had throughout the entire meeting, addressed them with the highest respect and composure.

"Mr and Mrs Granger's mind have been irreparably twisted and churned into what they believe to be a whole new life. They are Monica and Wendell Wilkins, from England whose lifelong dream it was to move to Perth, Australia and open a bait shop by the ocean. There is no sub-conscience of their ever being Mr and Mrs Granger. If we expose them to the consequences of magic this powerful and tamper with their minds once more we cannot be certain that they will process this radical change once more."

Ron's brow gathered tersely between his brows and he sucked his cheeks in sharply.

"They'd go mad?"

The silence in the room was poignant as the men held their breath in anticipation of Hermione's reaction. Dropping her indomitable eyes from the Minister in front of her, she studied the studded cuffs of the leather armchair she sat in, tracing her finger over the smooth, crimson ridges. Her usually level forehead was creased prominently; her pale pink lips pursed together like that of a rose bud approaching bloom.

"You say treated with the utmost delicacy. How exactly do you propose we accomplish this?"

Kingsley sighed, his shoulders dropping as he eyed Arthur wearily.

"Time, Miss Granger. In order to ensure this mission goes completely according to plan, I would only entrust our Ministry Auror's of the finest calibre to assume the role. As I'm sure you have seen, we are still endeavouring to pick up the pieces of the physical Ministry – the building itself, that is. For the past year the place has been infested with criminals, death eaters and evil. I intend to restore the Ministry to its rightful position of ensuring safety and protection of our country and in order to do that I need the best men. Auror's are already run off their feet trying to catch the many death eaters who escaped Voldemort's fall. Until we have a suitable team who can look after you and your parents the only thing we can do is plan."

Hermione visibly shrunk into her chair, her emotions torn. On one hand she was so grateful that her parents were safe, so relieved and happy she almost felt like twirling out of the room for good measure. On the other hand, Kingsley had said time which meant, in a politician's mind – patience, of which Hermione did not possess much of. Sensing her uncertainty, Ron gently slipped his hand between her rogue fingers, stilling the wheels in her mind for a moment and, with a nod of his head, silently urged her to address what Kingsley had just disclosed. Instead she remained silent.

"Err… what approximate time frame are we talking about here, Kingsley?" Arthur piped up from side. Ron jumped slightly in his crouched frame, having completely forgotten of his father's presence in the room, though now he must admit he was relieved his father was there with them, for he himself had proved little help.

"Several weeks at the very least Arthur, possibly months. You know how it is here and unless we find the sufficient recruitments I feel this task will not be carried out suitably which could risk an awful lot." Kingsley revealed, dejectedly. Rising once more in her chair, Hermione smiled briefly at the Minister before her, acknowledging that he was to be a great one.

"Minister Shacklebolt, I can't thank you enough for all you've already done for myself and my family. I understand that this will take time and I appreciate that you understand completing this affair successfully and smoothly is of paramount importance. If that means waiting until you are confident nothing will go awry, then I trust and value your decision."

Arthur stepped across to Hermione's chair and clapped a proud shoulder on her back as Ron smiled at the paternal display. Kingsley smiled weakly at the young woman before him and nodded several times.

"I think that's all from us for now, Kingsley." Arthur declared merrily and helped Hermione out of her seat.

Kingsley rose to his feet slowly, smiling warmly at his friends but neither Hermione nor Ron could ignore the sorrowful glint to his eyes.

"Miss Granger – _Hermione. _I'm sorry there's not more we can do for you at present. Please know that I will ensure that this is taken care of professionally and as swiftly as possible. If you should need to see me at any point, please do not hesitate to arrive here or owl or, well… whatever. We are friends, here. Please remember that." Kingsley boomed in his confident, powerful voice – warming the hearts of those in the room.

"Thank you, Kingsley."

&R/H&

"So after the Ministry is set up, what exactly happens then?" Harry questioned, intrigued.

Dropping her mug to sit beside Ron's on the kitchen table, Hermione confided in her friend. "Well, we don't know _exactly. _But I'm confident it involves sending a team of experts to Australia to locate my parents and disclose their fate, I suppose. It just has to be dealt with dexterously so as not to permanently damage their mind set of who they are. Their identities have already been so muddled between the drastic change of 'Mr and Mrs Granger, the dentists' to 'Monica and Wendell Wilkins, bait shop owners'. Hermione curled her lip in distaste. "I can't imagine how Mum's going to react. She hates the smell of fish."

Ron chuckled softly as Harry swirled his tea around in the mug.

"Who do you think will go? To Australia, I mean?" Harry queried further.

Hermione sighed softly, looking up at his smooth, clean-shaven face. He looked older than he had before, dark circles almost permanently positioned beneath his eyes. His body was scrawny and malnourished; his face ghostly and gaunt though Hermione couldn't deny that he was progressing every day under the watchful eye of Mrs Weasley and her treacle tarts.

"I don't know, really. Could be anyone."

"You'll be wanting to join them, I expect?"

Ron's ears perked up at this as he watched the earnest meaning behind Harry's words unfurl within the conversation. _Of course Hermione's gonna wanna go, you idiot! They're her fucking parents after all, aren't they?! _But for once, rather than scolding his own ignorance, Ron scolded himself for the fact that he had ever even considered her staying here, with him –with her parents half way across the world. He couldn't ask that of her, and he was furious at himself for not having realized it earlier. Eying Ron anxiously from the corner of her eye, Hermione turned to face Harry full on.

"Well yes. Yes, of course. I know the experts will be there to inform Mum and Dad about the logistics of the wizarding world and so forth, but I think I need to be the one to really _talk _to them. I am their daughter after all, they deserve that at the very least."

Harry nodded solemnly, his eyes clouded over with thoughts as they withdrew back to his tea.

Hermione leaned back in the sturdy chair, her eyes wandering over Ron's retreating form. She knew there was something wrong by the definition of his strong jaw and the stiffness of his physique. Desperately trying to search through the emotions in his eyes, Hermione leaned over and gently placed her hand atop his. Ron couldn't stand the sympathy she was giving him, her of all people and he felt pathetic. Suddenly, all Ron wanted was to be in another place away from the overbearing weight of the silence that burdened his shoulders and away from people. Ron recoiled instantly but he couldn't help but feel a twinge of regret as he noticed Hermione flinch and he knew the rejection had stung her. Standing rapidly, the shrill screech of his chair moving against the wooden floor ruptured the concentrated silence looming over the kitchen.

"Think I'm gonna head for a quick walk." Ron feigned cheerfulness as he grinned at the floor in an attempt to act casual.

"Do you want me to come with you?" Hermione offered, softly while Harry was still absorbed in the steam rising from his cup. Ron looked at her quickly, smiling remorsefully at her before landing an awkward pat on her shoulder.

"Nah, won't be long. See you in a bit, yeah?"

Ron couldn't have gotten out of the kitchen quicker, belting his knee against the cupboard in his hastiness to depart. Hermione tried to snub the sharp coldness billowing from her chest and she sought comfort once more in a mug of hot tea and her best friend.

&R/H&

Ron shuffled aimlessly around his room under the pretence of finding something, though he didn't know what that something was. All Ron knew was that he had to do something with the pent up energy and frustration that was quietly driving him insane. Restlessness had never really phased Ron, he'd always been rather content with relaxing or taking a break but this was a different sort of restlessness. Ron had been so wrapped up in his own little bubble of safety, protection, grievance in The Burrow; he hadn't even so much as given a thought to what comes next. However, he was suddenly launched from his incessant thoughts and erratic movements by a sharp tapping on the wooden panels of his door.

"It's only me."

And suddenly everything stopped and his boundless vigour ceased, because despite the fact it was she he was driving himself mad over; it was _she _who had always brought an interminable comfort to his life.

Hermione opened the door and carefully peeped her head around. _Merlin, she's beautiful.  
_Having changed from her skirt and cardigan ensemble, Hermione presented herself so much more casually in a thin, cotton shirt and loose pyjama trousers – her hair loosely pulled up into a neat ponytail. "Can I come in, Ron?"

In that instant, all his worries were washed away and he chuckled softly. "Of course, 'Ermione. You don't need t'ask, yeno."

Satisfied, Hermione closed the door behind her and leaned back on it, her arms crossed over her chest and Ron couldn't help but allow his eyes flicker to the accentuated high, mouth-watering mounds. He blushed then and whether or not Hermione was aware of his scrutinizing, she did not let on.

"Busy day, eh?" Ron croaked, his voice high and strained.

"It was very busy indeed. We hardly got to talk today, you and me – about everything I mean." Hermione spoke softly, inching her way closer to him and Ron was sure he could feel perspiration bead along the lining of his scalp. "Is everything okay, Ron? You seem a little… tense."

_Flamin' fuckin' monkey nuts! Pull yourself t'gether, you prat! She's talking to you – you can't just stare at her bleedin' tits and knock one off!_

Hermione drooped on the bed next to Ron and raised a cool hand to press over his feverous forehead. Her puckered bow lips unsealed themselves briefly and Ron's breath held in his throat as he watched her moist, pink tongue slowly swipe along her bottom lip. The next thing Hermione knew, his lips were on hers feverishly and before she even had a chance to react he literally flung himself off her.

"Blimey 'Ermione! Fuck, sorry. I don't know what came over me, I just…" Ron trailed off unintentionally as he watched Hermione studying moist lips with an unmistakable sense of longing before she lowered her lips back onto his, less forcefully this time. For a moment she allowed her lips just to rest upon his, but needing more she raised a steady hand to cradle his neck and deepened the kiss considerably. Ron responded instantly to the light suctions of her mouth and he ran his tongue across her perfect lips, begging for entrance. With a hot, breathy gasp Hermione's mouth opened and Ron delved in, full force. Hands groped, lips tugged and teeth nipped as the two young adults devoured each other, drinking one another up on Ron's bed.

Lying Hermione back along his bed, Ron's lips descended down along her jaw, dusting her face with light, swift kisses before placing deeper open mouth ones along the expanse of creamy skin of her neck.

"Ron," Hermione moaned lightly, her hand reaching across the bed fumbling to find what she so desperately needed. And then her hand grasped it, her wand, and she flicked it towards the door effectively locking and silencing it (just for good measure). She shut her eyes tightly and surrendered to her senses and the energy which Ron was evoking from within her. Ron's electric eyes were clouded over with hunger and Hermione couldn't help the dampness surging between her legs as he looked at her like she was the most desirable thing in the world. Thrusting her hips up in the air slightly, Ron groaned as his aching hard member rubbed exquisitely against her cotton covered thigh.

Hermione was sure she would never feel as wanted and loved as she did in that moment and, as she reached across her and clutched either end of her pyjama shirt, she placed every confidence she had in him. Swiftly and gracefully, Hermione removed the thin fabric of her top and revealed her naked chest to Ron. Sitting up straight, Hermione watched Ron's expression change from ravenous to utter dumbstruck. His jaw slackened and his eyes grew as wide as dinner plates as Hermione reached across and drew his hand up to cup one milky, velvet breast.

"Holy Order of fucking Merlin!" Ron swore unequivocally at the sight of his huge, dustbin-lid hand clasped around one of the most beautiful things he'd ever seen. Swiping the pad of his thumb against her puckered nipple he gasped at the low moan Hermione emitted from her parted lips. Bringing his free hand up to her cup her right breast, he plucked at the taut nipple in front of him, unable to repudiate his hunger any longer. Slowly, Ron lowered his mouth down to hover over Hermione's breasts and, without breaking eye contact, licked tentatively at the swollen nub. Instantly, Hermione's hormone fuelled body bucked and she squeezed her eyes shut. Concentrating on the signs of her body, Ron continued to lick and suckle allowing the noises and movements of her body to guide him while their hips rocked back and forth. Burying his head in her neck, Ron exhaled croakily and stilled her hips with his rough hands.

"Blimey, 'Ermione. I-I can't hold off, we have to stop." Hermione snapped out of her pleasure filled haze and brought a hand up to stroke the hairs at the nape of his neck. She immediately detected the embarrassment and shame coating Ron's words and wanted to quench any insecurity he may possess.

"Good."

"Good?" Ron rumbled against her sensitive skin and Hermione had to close her eyes for a moment and concentrate on the issue at hand.

"Yes; good, Ron. Because it means that you want me in _that _way. So that is very, _very _good." Hermione admitted, smiling herself as she felt his lips tugs against her skin.

"I want you in **every **way 'Mione. Surely you know that?" Ron withdrew his face from the comfortable crook in her neck to hover above her face, their noses mere fractions apart. Enjoying the look of peace and blissfulness on spread across her face, Ron raised a hand to stroke her cheek tenderly.

"I know that now, Ron."

Lowering his lips back down to hers, Ron almost didn't hear the incessant jiggling of the doorknob behind his back until the jiggling became rapping on the door.

"Ron, mate, you in there? Your Mum's looking for you."

Swearing loudly, Ron struggled to detach himself from the magnificence that was sprawled out before him on his bed. Hermione smiled up at him through disenchanted eyes.

"Always next time, I suppose."


	5. Communication

**_A/N: _**_Hey guys! Sorry for the wait, but I'm afraid I'm back at school now and work is beginning to pile up so it will be several days later than usual before I update from now on – but I'll never leave you waiting too long! Once Hermione and Ron find their places of privacy smut will rapidly increase but for now we're dealing within the confines of The Burrow so romantic episodes are short and sweet! To the usual's who have been reviewing and reading – thank you all so much! Your feedback is, as always, much appreciated and I really love hearing what you think. If anyone has any tips or constructive criticism please do not hesitate to review. Thanks again to everyone! Hope you enjoy and speak to you all soon! __***Disclaimer* I own nothing but this storyline, this was made purely for entertainment purposes.**_

**Chapter 5: Communication**

_Always next time, I suppose._

That's what Hermione had said to him.

And he knew she was right. Of course there was going to be a next time. There were going to be many next times. The question was _when _would this next time be? Ron wasn't the most patient person in the world; however he knew that this was important. He knew that he didn't ever want to feel like he was pressuring Hermione and he wanted her to want it as much as he did. Did she want it as much as he did? Ron thought so. She had always seemed fairly keen, judging by the breathy moans and whimpers that spilled out of her mouth on occasion – the breathy moans and whimpers that caused Ron's cock to twitch spontaneously in his trousers as he loosened his belt.

He couldn't help but indulge in the memory that had been seared on the very forefront of his brain: Hermione laid out in front of him – her wild, tangled hair in a complete disarray on the greying, cotton pillow of his bed; the expanse of her creamy, velvet skin on display just for him – naked from the waist up with her beautiful, round breasts thrust up in the air before him.

_Merlin,_ what that image did to him.

He absentmindedly rubbed himself through his tented boxers, before removing the offending article altogether. Ron stood, naked in front of the mirror and drank in his appearance. He was ridiculously tall, for one, with a lanky posture and gangly limbs. He had beefed up quite a bit though and his limbs were now coated with thick strips of muscle and fat. His face was beginning to recover some weight – his eyes weren't as hollow as they had once been and his jaw less defined. His chest was broad and well built; though he could recognize the absence of fresh, taut muscle he had been used to from quidditch. His thighs were quite butch, he noticed; rusty freckles scattered all over his pasty skin. His legs were coated with a thin layer of wispy red hairs. The same ginger hairs that led a light trail from his belly button right down to between his legs, where a rather stiff organ was begging for some attention.

Stepping away from the accumulative pile of clothes at his feet, Ron stretched for the shower handle and jerked it hastily. He shrugged his socks off before diving in head first, underneath the hot jets of water from the big, brass showerhead. Hissing in pleasure, Ron reached for the bar of soap and began to lather the ripples of taut muscles heavily. There really was nothing like a nice, hot shower to dissolve one's tension and in Ron's case it was most definitely sexual tension. He really couldn't help himself, oh he'd tried but whenever he was kissing Hermione all he could think of was her tits pressed firmly against his chest or the heaving of her chest and the bliss glazed chocolate of her eyes as she dropped her head back and came. He'd only ever seen this heated gaze once and yet Ron knew even in that moment when he could hardly process his thoughts that it wasn't one he would easily forget.

Bringing a slippery hand down to grasp his rigid member, Ron stroked himself from the base up with practised ease as the heavy water showered down on his hunched back. Steadying himself with a palm against the slick wall of the stall, Ron imagined Hermione in there with him. He imagined her tousled, kinks of hair weighed down from the weight of the water; a mixture of soapy foam and water trickling down the valley of her breasts, over the slim curve of her stomach before disappearing into the perfect cluster of curls masking her slippery folds. He imagined her sucking her bottom lip up between her teeth as she so often did, while her tiny little hand reached across to wrap around his cock. Before Ron could even enjoy the imagined feel of her pumping him, adding light pressure to his bollocks; his breath had hitched and he couldn't prevent the small groan of satisfaction to leak from his mouth. And then out of nowhere, he heard her moan, loudly, into his ear.

&R/H&

"Did you have a nice shower?" Hermione asked, only vaguely interested in his response as she idly flicked a page in her book. Luckily for Ron, this meant that she didn't process the blush which tinted his cheeks and the best part of his neck.

"You better not have used all the hot water, you knob! I'll hex your bits off if you have, I'm freezing!" Ginny wailed, still shivering despite the drying charm she had cast over her soaked clothes.

Ron had spent the day out in the orchards playing quidditch with Harry, Ginny and surprisingly enough, Hermione. Though she hadn't actually _played _very much, she had managed to steady herself on a broom and had assisted in some very important scores for her and Harry's team so she was pretty proud of herself. However, the game had ended on a dampener when the unpremeditated summer showers hit and soaked them through and through. Harry and Hermione had both cast pretty effective drying and warming charms over them before changing into slightly cosier gear. Ginny, however, had been cross pretty much all day (Hermione had heard her and Harry arguing the night before though decided it best not to gossip) and her spell had been utterly redundant. She then proceeded to ignore Harry and fervently refuse the assistance of Hermione – insisting she wouldn't die waiting for a shower. Now, as her teeth chattered harshly, she figured she just about might.

Harry sighed as he watched her storm out of the room; he threw himself back onto the couch opposite Ron and motioned the chess board over.

"I was thinking of going to my parent's house tomorrow. I mean, it's really only time. I'll be going to get them soon and I don't want to leave things last minute, you know – if anything has been tampered with…" Hermione announced; her clipped voice bounced harshly off the dense walls.

They all knew what Hermione meant. There was a very likely chance that the Granger's house was probably the first place the Death Eaters sought out after her warrant for arrest was made. Judging by the ferocity with which they had dealt with average muggle-borns, Hermione was probably right in her presumption that the house had been _tampered _with. It was really just the degree of damage done which was in question.

Harry snapped his head up to face Hermione, but Ron's eyes had never left her face to begin with. She was trying to maintain a nonchalance about the declaration - but they knew it for what it was; a plea for help. And neither of them would question it, when would they ever have questioned it? They merely digested the information and made a subconscious plan for the next day.

"Alright. We'll leave after breakfast." Harry responded, his eyes returning to the game in front of him.

Hermione raised her eyes meekly to meet Ron's, silently questioning whether this was alright. Was it okay for her to want both of their help tomorrow? Ron knew he was her boyfriend now but he also knew that that didn't change the fact that they had originally been a trio, they'd been a trio for so many years and while his and Hermione's relationship unintentionally altered that, they were still three best friends. Ron quipped a lazy smile across the room, one that made her heart melt and her thighs quiver in anticipation at the same time. _Goodness_, how she loved that smile. Over the course of their friendship, Ron had thrown that relaxed, unconcerned smile over at her many a time and yet every single time it made her heartbeat falter and her womb to hopelessly clench.

From her vantage point, snuggled deep into the base of the massive, spongy armchair Hermione admired the look of determination and concentration on Ron's face. A mop of slightly damp hair covered his forehead, his thick brows drawn in the deliberation of his next chess move and his glassy blue eyes dark with focus. Hermione's eyes slowly traced the length of his freckled nose, gliding slowly down to his smooth nasal philtrum before focusing on his wide, full lips. The lips she had fantasized about so much since possibly first year when she felt a slight shift in the relationship – not that they'd had much of a relationship for most of the first year. But when Hermione had acknowledged Ron as a friend at the end of first year, she knew there was an undeniable difference between her feelings for him and for Harry. Her feelings for Harry had always been so very platonic and yet even at that young age she could differentiate between the two. She began to wonder if it would be so inappropriate to hug Ron as a 'thank you' or a 'good night' which furthermore escalated into whether or not it was acceptable behaviour to kiss him on the cheek from time to time. When Hermione finally realized and acknowledged her feelings for Ron, the fantasies came pouring in. Would his lips feel as soft as they looked? Would he taste like chocolate and The Burrow? Suddenly every question involving Ron became physical. Hermione needed to know him physically as well as emotionally, but was that allowed?

Hermione bit her lip softly, nestling further into the armchair as she remembered seeing him for the first time since she'd begun to discover her body. And then that ridiculous spectacle of the Yule Ball. Smiling fondly now, she reminisced on the hopefulness she'd subconsciously allowed herself to feel. She had convinced herself that this was going to be the year Ron would notice her; he would invite her to the Yule Ball and that night she would finally receive the first kiss she had been waiting for. However, as so often with them, fate had other plans and it was not to be. At the time Hermione couldn't have been more distraught and furious with him, he had spoiled absolutely everything and she didn't think she'd ever forgive him. Ron felt her lingering gaze from across the room and raised his eyes to meet hers.

He quirked an eyebrow comically, mutedly inquiring what she was looking at but she merely smiled wider and shook her head. Ron let out a chuckle before returning to face an ignorant Harry.

"Check mate." Ron uttered, satisfied. He wasn't exactly surprised he'd won, Harry was a mediocre player at best and he knew his best friends heart hadn't been in it tonight. Harry merely sighed, rose to his feet and mumbled something about going to get exploding snap. Noise bustled through the kitchen as Mrs Weasley clanked pots and pans together in an attempt to stuff them into the cupboard beneath the sink while Mr Weasley eagerly retold the events of his day.

"What were you thinkin' 'bout, just there?" Ron turned in his seat, spreading his legs wide and raising his hands to cross behind his head. He was wearing that silly grin she had always found so adorable and pronounced his dimples.

"Oh nothing of any importance," Hermione retorted through her smile, unable to retain the humour from her voice.

"Like hell! Tell me, I won't laugh." He stretched his long leg over and bumped his foot against hers endearingly.

"Honestly Ronald, can't you see that I'm trying to read!" Hermione rebuked but the hints of a smile still lingered on her face. "Well why don't you come over here and read, luv? There's plenty o' space and I'm gettin' cold!" Ron exclaimed, patting the space on the couch beside him happily. Rolling her eyes, Hermione huffed. "No, I like this seat. It's comfortable and warm. I'm quite happy here, thank you." She returned to her book, but her eyes merely loitered on the blurry words. She had absolutely no interest in reading when she could feel her boyfriend's determined stare on her.

"Fine." Ron replied coolly, turning his glower away from her and she knew he was trying to gesture his ignoring her. Grumbling and irritated, Hermione emerged from her snug sanctuary and climbed up next to Ron.

"Better?" She asked, her eyes slipping into a mocking glare. Ron chortled warmly, wrapping his arms around her and in one swift movement pulling her flush against him. Hermione squealed like the little girl he always made her feel like and in that instant she felt so light and carefree, like she could do whatever she wanted. So she did.

"Blimey, 'Ermione! Give a bloke some warning, yeah?" Ron breathed, his eyes wide as he withdrew from the deep kiss Hermione had just planted on his lips. Hermione merely rolled her eyes and drew him back in for yet another one. Merlin, he loved this girl – he really did. Her lips moved softly and slowly against his, there was no rush in this kiss just pure, unadulterated love. Swiping his tongue carefully against her lower lip, Ron's heart still soared when she permitted him access and he delved into the confines of her mouth. Their tongues moved in a leisurely dance causing the familiar stirrings in the pit of her stomach. She would never tire of this.

Hermione hummed contentedly against Ron's lips before extracting herself from him. "We better stop. Your parents are just next door."  
Ron knew she was right (when wasn't she right?) but Merlin, all he wanted to do was have a couple of hours with this wonder without having to think of Harry or his parents or his siblings. Ron wanted to _be _with Hermione and damn the consequences! He sighed and dropped his eyes and Hermione's heart sunk a little.

"You know, when I was little I used to hate being an only child. I resented being in a big house with no one to play with. It was always so quiet. Now I'm rather envious of the privacy I used to have… the privacy we could have." Hermione admitted quietly, her head dipped to look up at his. Ron smirked at Hermione's attempt to make him feel better. "Was it difficult growing up in a house with so many people?"

The question threw him off. He'd never really thought of it. It had always just been. Many times throughout his life, Ron had wished there were less people but he never really meant it. It hadn't really occurred to him to think of having more privacy without all the people, he had been rather concerned with discovering certain lengths of privacy _despite_ all the people. Ron leaned back, allowing a little distance between himself and Hermione as he reflected on the question.

"Yeah, reckon it was sometimes. I mean, it's always been busy y'ano – the house I mean. But I never thought too much on it 'cause I couldn't exactly change it. Most o' the time it was alright. Christmas and birthdays and stuff were always pretty cool. Sometimes when I was younger though, it was difficult to find some peace and quiet; especially when I needed t'think or cool off or whatever. You of all people know what I'm like when I get like that."

There it was again – The guilt; the sheepish grin on his face while his eyes drooped ashamed and remorseful, and his hand scrubbed at the back of his neck awkwardly.

"We all get like that, Ron." Hermione took his hand in hers, rubbing soothing circles on his hand comfortingly. Her eyes drifted across the room to the many joyful family pictures scattered throughout. Mrs and Mr Weasley when they were young with only baby Bill. Mrs Weasley pregnant with the twins, Percy sitting happily on her lap. Ron and Ginny as toddlers in matching green sweaters and plaid pants. George, Ginny and Charlie wearing their fresh Christmas jumpers. The twins whizzing by on broomsticks. Fred.

"What was it like having so many siblings?"

Ron laughed a little at the tentative yet wholly excited look bubbling under the surface of Hermione's face. She'd always wanted to ask him these questions and though she pretty much knew the answers to all of them, she wanted to hear it directly from the source.

"It's good; nice. We drive each other absolutely fuckin' barmy, but I reckon that's what family should be about." Ron's eyes twinkled slightly before falling desperately sad. Hermione mentally kicked herself. Of course he was thinking of Fred. How could she have been so insensitive as to provoke such a thought!

"Ron, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to—"

"No, no it's alright luv. I wanna keep remembering him. I don't wanna forget just 'cause he's not here. It's just hard sometimes, is all." Ron explained and attempted his best at a smile.

"I always wanted a little brother or sister. Don't get me wrong, there are some parts of being an only child that I love. I loved the undivided attention for one; I think that really moulded me. However, if I had siblings I don't think I'd be as uptight and such a prude." Hermione confessed, her cheeks warming at the bold statement.

"Hey, hey if there's anythin' we discovered t'gether it's that you luv, are most certainly not a prude." Ron's impish grin spread across his entire face and made her unabashedly blush.

Mrs Weasley bustled into the room with a tray of treats and delicacies cutting off the conversation prematurely; her eyes smiling just as much as the beam on her face.

"Little bit of late dessert, dears?" She questioned happily.

"Where have Harry and Ginny got to?" Mrs Weasley questioned sceptically while Ron and Mr Weasley dove in to the miniature cakes on the cracked plate resting on the coffee table. As she hurried purposefully out of the room, Mr Weasley huddled himself down into Hermione's recently vacated armchair by the fire and happily munched away. "How was work Dad, anythin' interesting happen?" Ron asked half-heartedly as Hermione picked up her book once more and buried her nose in it.

"Busy as usual, son. There's a favour I've been meaning to ask you, actually. Any chance you'd pop in to see Georgie tomorrow?"

Hermione leaned more so into her book, hoping the pages would open up and engulf her into the tiny print.

"It's just; your mother's been a bit worried you know. But she doesn't want to be at him. She knows he needs space, but you know your mum. She never can stay away. What do you say? Ask him to come round for dinner, see how things are going?" Mr Weasley's brows raised hopefully, the glint in his eyes almost pausing in anticipation of Ron's answer.

Ron glanced awkwardly over at Hermione, who was so crouched over her book he was sure she was going to fall into it if she wasn't careful.

"Thing is Dad, we were planning on heading round to Hermione's house tomorrow. Get things sorted for her parents."

Mr Weasley's eyes amplified slightly. "Blimey son, you sure it's wise you lot go alone? Surely I should come with you, you know in case there's any danger." Mr Weasley said apprehensively.

Hermione raised her head ruefully. "Maybe you're right, Mr Weasley. It would probably be prudent of us to be accompanied by an adult in the event of there being any curses or traps set. I've been thinking of that all day. I'm sorry to be such a nuisance."

Molly returned, with a red faced Harry in tow, smiling knowingly. "What's all this about then?"

"Molly, we're going to Hermione's parents' house tomorrow."


	6. Scarring and Thank You's

**_A/N: _**_Hi everyone! Literally just finished this chapter so figured I'd stick it on up ASAP just in case any of you guys have been waiting for it. Thanks again to everyone who has reviewed – it's so cool to hear what you all think and I really appreciate it. I think this chapter shows a different side to Ron and I intend to explore this side much more in the near future! For those of you who have enjoyed Ron/Hermione quality time I hope very much that you enjoy this chapter just as much because it is FULL OF IT! Until next time, my friends. __***Disclaimer* I own nothing but this story line, this was made purely for entertainment purposes.**_

**Chapter 6: Scarring and Thank You's**

Hermione held a breath as Mr Weasley approached the familiar teal door with the ornately sculpted stained glass. Never had it struck her that this was how The Weasley's would first enter her house. It had always just been a trick of fate that they had never been acquainted with her home before; and she had always known that when they did come over it would be in a completely casual and informal manner– as if they had seen her house many times before. And though she had never pictured the exact situation in which the family would arrive at her childhood home, it was never meant to have been like this. It was never meant to be with fear and apprehension in their signature cheerful faces or with caution and vigilance in their usual sprightly step.

Mr Weasley advanced towards the door with his wand at the ready. Behind him Mrs Weasley held Ginny's hand firmly in hers while Harry supported her from the back. Ron loomed protectively over Hermione, his face contorted with serious focus and she felt a brief comfort in his obvious affection. Arthur braced himself as he muttered the spell and the heavy door swung open with ease. Hermione followed quickly, only lingering slightly behind him – allowing the rest to follow.

As expected, the place was in ruins.

Where once flawless oak panels had been laid were now mere fragments of splintered wood and several heavier pieces of blocks snapped in half. The expensive carpeting of the stairs had been ripped and torn, baring the concrete ground beneath bald clumps. As they hesitantly progressed through the rooms, much the same was to be found – wall paper hung in strips, mirrors, pictures, vases and lamps smashed, destroyed furniture and in the sitting room Hermione's piano lay shattered. Her eyes grew darker and more desolate as room by room was searched, however it wasn't until she reached her own that tears prickled the corners of her eyes.

Slashed across the lilac walls of Hermione's childhood bedroom a million times was one word.

Mudblood.

It dripped from every nook, every cranny in huge, emphatic writing. Mrs Weasley gasped, bringing a hand to her mouth in utter astonishment. Mr Weasley's downcast eyes dropped to the floor. Ginny automatically reached for Hermione's hand and grasped it firmly in her own. Ron's blood began to boil as Harry seethed, "Scourgify." However, rather than wipe the words away with one brief flick, they remained as glaringly apparent as before.

"Tergeo!" Ron shouted, his face hot with rage as he forced the spell at the disgusting words. Conversely, the words persisted.

"Reducto." Hermione whispered as the back wall exploded into a heap of crumbled concrete. Mrs Weasley gasped once more before Harry, Ron and Mr Weasley facilitated in the abolishing of the abominable words and Hermione resurrected the dust and debris to form four plain, concrete walls. Mrs Weasley gently eased an arm around Hermione's shoulders and squeezed them softly while Ginny leaned into her mother and friends embrace. Mr Weasley looked up at his family solemnly. "I'm going to sweep the house once more, just to be sure there's nothing we previously overlooked. Molly, why don't you make Hermione some sweet tea – this is all sure to be somewhat of a shock for her."

Hermione's natural reaction was to bristle at the slight accusation. However, as she recognized the warm, sympathetic gleam in his eyes she rebuffed and knew that he was only trying to spare her feelings. Mrs Weasley gave her one last squeeze before hurrying downstairs with Ginny to make a pot of tea and Mr Weasley and Harry departed to snoop further around her childhood home.

She sank down onto her bed, particles of dust floating sporadically about at her movements; the former vibrant white of her bedspread had faded to an unsightly dull grey. Everything was dusty and dirty and disgusting. She felt disgusting. Nasty words had never troubled Hermione, but there was something about that particular word – the filth, the sickening repulsion and loathing that encrusted it. It sliced through her, puncturing the purity of her soul and saturating her goodness with an evil so horrendous it could not be conveyed. And for a second; amidst the vulgarity and abhorrence, Hermione almost believed that she was what that word that had been lathered onto her innocent walls, the word that was embedded into her arm as a constant reminder, was expressing. Hermione felt as if she had soiled blood. She felt like a mudblood.

"Hermione–"

"–Ron don't. Just… just, don't."

Her even, silky complexion was flushed and her eyes were clouded. Ron had known for a long time that Hermione's intellectual, haughty persona had, for the most part, masked the inevitable feminine vulnerability that she tried so hard to conceal in the possibility of it making her seem weak – something she just could not afford by any accounts. Ron himself had witnessed over the nomadic months of the last year how she clenched and strained her jutted jaw when she willed herself not to cry or the way her arms instinctively wrapped around her folded body in attempt to shield herself from pain she so often _expected_ to feel. Pain, Ron reminded himself guiltily, that he had caused her. And Ron knew that even though Hermione prided herself on being logical and practical that that one simple word could inflict more hurt than she cared to let on.

Ron awkwardly slipped across to the bed and leaned into her slumped shoulders. Had she always looked this tired? Ron couldn't deny the prominent shadows that existed beneath the melting pools of chocolate that swirled melancholically as she plucked at the fine purple embroidering of her quilt. And despite the time and the place, Ron was reminded by how much he loved chocolate.

Reaching over, Ron stilled her trembling hands in one of his and inclined his head further. From this angle he could make out each delicate crease along the fold of her perfectly parted lips and he warmed at the sight of her slightly heavier, moist breaths rushing through the tiny parting. And without thinking, Ron swooped down low and dragged his lips along the plump length of hers before sucking in her lower lip and releasing it slowly. Her eyes were positively stunned and her mouth moulded into a perfectly astonished 'O'.

_That sure as 'ell got her attention!_

Ron grinned sheepishly, if not somewhat guiltily, at her startled expression. "Sorry luv, couldn't help it."

Hermione melted at his words, her features softening and she leaned further into his embrace. But there was still an unmistakable trace of sadness tinging the young girl's eyes and Ron wanted desperately to rid her of all self-consciousness.

"'Ermione," Ron whispered gruffly and he was suddenly hit by a wave of sympathy at the glint of innocence and purity in her eyes as she looked up at him so very hopefully. "You've gotta know that none o' that stuff is true. What was written on the walls, before. You're not that. You're bloody fuckin' brilliant!" Ron's smile grew slowly into a beam as he slipped an arm around her, shrugging her into him. "You're the greatest witch of all bleedin' time and everyone bloody knows it! Y'know I'm not one for words, 'Mione but you have t'know that… well, that you're just a fucking genius. Harry and I wouldn'ta lasted two days without you!" It was the first time he'd ever told her those very words he'd hissed at Harry in the night-time blackness all those months ago. And despite his knowing it was the right thing to say, Ron couldn't prevent the glowing of the tips of his ears.

Hermione smiled softly and nuzzled her head into his chest. But the comfort in his words was short-lived as a familiar throb stemmed from her left arm and she shifted uncomfortably. "What's wrong?" Ron's deep voice vibrated against her forehead where his lips had latched onto her skin. The cotton sleeve of Hermione's t-shirt chafed against the horrid scarring which had branded her arm since that unpleasant encounter in Malfoy Manor and she shuddered at the memory. "Nothing, just a scratch." Hermione replied, her arm twitching painfully.

Ron's forehead crumpled disconcertingly before an awareness dawned in his thick skull.

_Of course, you dim-witted dingbat! It's her left arm that's bothering her for fuck sake!_

"Does it still hurt?" He questioned tentatively.

"It was very dark magic, Ron. If I see or hear the word anywhere near me it starts aching. It's not very sore, just uncomfortable and vile." Hermione admitted in a whisper, her voice thick with unshed tears.

The frown on his face was still blatantly apparent as he withdrew from their tight embrace slightly. Hermione's head snapped up in clear bewilderment but Ron ignored her imploring eyes and focused on the task at hand. He half expected to be hexed or slapped for what he was about to do – he knew this was an intermittent moment of vulnerability for Hermione but this was something he had wanted to do, needed to do since that day in Malfoy Manor and the subsequent days when Hermione had frequently and ceaselessly tugged at the very end of her long sleeved shirt to ensure no one get so much as a peek at the dirty word carved into her skin. Ron needed to quench every uncertainty, every insecurity she had about her body. So slowly, Ron raised her arm to meet his bent head and began to push the fabric of her sleeve up along the skin of her left arm.

"Ron–" Hermione practically shrieked, frantically pulling away from his tight grasp. But before she could, she felt the distinctive decadence of Ron's lips on her skin. Hermione's eyes glazed over as she uttered a gasp of surprise. Slowly but surely, Ron's full, pink lips were making their way up her blemished skin kissing every fowl, scratchy letter. And there was something overwhelmingly expressive and passionate about this deed that Hermione couldn't forbid the tearful haze of her eyes nor the clogging of her throat at the raw emotion that this action elicited from her. His vibrant blue eyes were somewhat darker, fogged over with determination and resolve as he gently placed a chaste kiss over each sordid character. "Oh, Ron." Hermione sighed, a single tear escaping from the very corner of her eye; slowly rolling down her dainty face.

After he had placed a lingering kiss on each of the letters, Ron ran his fingers nimbly over the sensitive scabs and raised his defiant eyes to meet Hermione's.

"I love you, Hermione. Scars and all."

For someone who had never had a way with words, Ron spoke with such clarity and conviction that Hermione found she truly, wholeheartedly believed him and her chest swelled significantly.

A single knock broke the bubble Ron had created for the both of them and Ginny flung herself from behind the door.

"Mum says tea's ready." Ginny announced in her usual assertive tone. Her eyes lingered on the pair of them as Hermione sniffled briefly yet smiled brilliantly over. "Thanks Ginny, we'll be down in a minute."

&R/H&

The rest of the afternoon was spent salvaging the downstairs rooms of the house and by five o'clock almost every room had been restored. In the sitting room, the tufts of feathers had been stuffed back into the plush suite, Hermione's piano was gleaming fabulously under the evening sun seeping through the front window, each mirror, vase and lamp had been successfully repaired and the expensive oil paintings which adorned The Granger's living room walls were hanging at the precise angle they should have been. The oak floors of the hall and the lavish carpeting of the stairs had been tacked back down to the ground and the smashed tiles, windows and furniture had been repaired. Though it had rendered difficult, it had not been impossible to overthrow the darkness of magic which had destroyed the house in the first place but it had taken a lot of power and energy.

At five o'clock, Molly decided that it was the end to a productive day and they should all return to the Burrow where she would promptly begin preparing dinner. However, after having been away from her home for so long Hermione felt a childish need to stay a little while longer just to _be _at home. Everything she had done for an entire year had been rushed and anxious and Hermione didn't want to treat her home in the same way. So with the pretence of having a shower and retrieving some clothes and books for the remainder of her stay at the Burrow, Hermione convinced The Weasley's to go on without her.

Though Mr Weasley warned them both about the notorious Death Eaters still on the loose, he understood and respected Hermione's wishes and even went as far to suggest Ron stay with her for the hour. Mrs Weasley, suspicious as she was, reluctantly agreed while Harry tried in vain to conceal his desperate bout of laughter at the humiliating warnings she unabashedly hurled at Ron before their warding the house and subsequent departure.

"Fuckin' hell." Ron swore, his face and neck matching the colour of his ears at his mother's lack of tact. Hermione merely chuckled fondly and leaned down to chastely kiss his cheek.

"Language, Ronald. You know, I wasn't actually planning on having a shower, I only really said that to spare myself an extra hour or two – you know, to just reacquaint myself with everything. Now, however, I rather fancy the idea. Would you mind?"

Ron gulped at the idea of Hermione a mere door away; naked and soapy with water streaming over her. _Fuck._ Ron shifted uncomfortably on her bed before meeting her inquisitive eyes. "Nope. Go for it. I'll be right here if y'need anythin'."

Hermione smiled, satisfied, and departed through the white door of her bathroom with a "Won't be long."

Ron sighed an unconscious breath of relief and immediately dropped his hands to readjust himself in his pants. The things that girl did to him without even the slightest knowledge. Ron's eyes moved lazily over everything in the room, everything so _Hermione. _He'd never been in her room before, Ron realized and there was something indisputably intimate about it. He'd imagined Hermione's room many times before – well not so much her room, as the pair of them _in _it – but his heart swelled at discovering this part of her, the part of her he had rarely explored before; the muggle part of her. Something in the back of Ron's head registered that there was a slight buzz of the shower running and faintly he heard the running of water. He loved her room. He loved how every bit of it reminded him so much of her and how despite her absence from it for the past year it still smelled of her natural scent. Behind his position on the bed stood a sturdy row of bookshelves with a weird silver metal box on top with lots of nobs and buttons. Opposite the window sat a durable white reading desk equipped with matching chair and a practical study lamp and at the bottom of the room stood a heavy white wardrobe with tiny little designs carved into the sides.

The carvings made Ron think back to earlier that day when he had so boldly revealed the carvings on Hermione's arm. It had taken a lot to ignore her utter horror and alarm but Ron reckoned he had done the right thing, hadn't he? She seemed to like it in the end and anyway they were in a proper relationship now. Didn't that mean they were to be honest with each other? Ron felt if that action didn't show her how much he loved every bludgering inch of her, he would spend every day repeating those actions in the hopes that one day she would believe him. Ron smiled to himself, realizing that he would have that opportunity – bloody fuckin' hell, he'd have all the time in the fucking world to convince Hermione that she was beautiful–not just beautiful; perfect.

Chuckling goofily to himself, Ron kicked off his shoes and lay back on her roomy, cushioned bed. Despite his utter elation at the idea of him and Hermione together for as long as she'd bloody have him for, questions were swirling Ron's head – questions he knew only Hermione could answer for him, but he didn't want to worry her further with his silly queries; she had enough on her plate. However, Ron indulged in the ones at the very forefront of his brain. **_What's next, then?_**_ S'pose 'Mione'll need help gettin' this place back in order before her parents come home. __**Then what?**__ Well, then she'll come back to the Burrow, of course. Won't she? She's hardly gonna stay alone here after all that's bloody gone on. No – she'll come back to The Burrow and we'll wait 'til we hear from the Ministry. Won't be too long now, will it? __**And then? **__Then me and Harry'll go to Australia with Hermione and a group of Ministry experts, locate 'er parents, tell'em the story and Bob's yer fuckin' uncle, we'll be home and everythin' will be back t'normal. _

Ron resolved confidently, smiling satisfyingly to himself however there was a nag at the very back of his mind reminding him that he'd just made all of that up with his own ideals, hadn't he? For all he knew Hermione could have a totally different plan and what about Harry? He was part of this mission too, so a lot was up to him too! But before Ron could deliberate further he heard the echoing halt of water and only a mere memory of the vibrations of the shower and his heart leapt into his throat. Ron's body flushed brazenly at the thought of what was behind that flimsy old door. How many times had he fantasized over a situation so very like the one he was in right now? He was suddenly overwhelmed by the fact that in the future, and possibly the very near future, Ron would have a chance to live out these fantasies. With the girl he had always fantasized over. With _Hermione._

Ron willed himself to calm down – after all, what witch wanted to come into a room and find a randy old bugger (let alone a gangly, freckly, ginger git like himself) lying suggestively on her bed with his wand waving around in front of her face at full attention? No one, he amended and he closed his eyes.

"Making yourself at home, are you?" Hermione's voice cut teasingly through the air and Ron's face automatically rose to a beam. He could hear the light pad of footsteps on the soft cream carpets; however keeping his eyes closed he was suddenly inundated by the sweetest smell of vanilla and honeysuckle. Ron inhaled deeply as he felt something slightly damp fall across his face but before he could process this a pair of very familiar, velvet lips were dragging harmoniously across his; a tip of a tongue he was somewhat acquainted with tracing the outline of lips.

"Mmm, Merlin. I could get used to this." Ron mumbled against her lips and Hermione giggled softly, playfully pecking him several times before pulling away. It was only then that Ron took in her sight.

_Flaming fucking Hippogriff on a stick!_

Standing before his very eyes was a very damp and what he assumed to be a very naked Hermione beneath a scantily clad towel. Her wet hair cascaded around her shoulders in tumbles of waves; only the drier bits by her scalp and ears curled seductively. Her eyes were bright and sparkling and her skin was translucent and flawless. Her lips were parted slightly, smiling down at him with the most adoring smile tinged with recognizable humour and Ron watched, entranced, the rise and fall of her chest. "Fuckin' hell, 'Ermione." He spoke gruffly and Hermione felt a gush of wetness between her legs.

Her eyes clouded over with what Ron hoped to be desire as she bit her lip shyly.

"In my haste to hop into the shower I foolishly left my clothes behind." Hermione squeaked out, though her calculating mind emphatically reminded her that she had not, in fact, _forgotten_ her clothes. She merely wished to see Ron's reaction to her, to this part of her. From the handful of snogging and heavy petting sessions Ron and she had experience over the course of the past few weeks, Hermione knew that Ron was physically attracted to her. She'd known that since she flagrantly threw her arms around him during The Battle of Hogwarts without a second thought of Harry's presence and he'd kissed her back with renewed fervent. But there was something distinctly pleasurable in knowing that she could illicit _this _amount of passion from him. And somewhere in the back of her mind, Hermione chided herself for the jealousy she had felt towards Fleur the previous summer.

Ron's dry mouth opened and closed, comically like a fish and Hermione struggled to restrain the silly giggle rising its way up through her throat.

"Right… Well–right, yeah. I'll just…" Ron rose to his feet, ignoring Hermione's blush at the considerable bulge in his trousers as he motioned to the door. Hermione merely swatted her hand through the air.

"Honestly Ron, don't be silly. You don't have to leave. Just turn around or something." Hermione said bluntly, and watched in amusement as he gulped audibly. Making quick work of pulling on her clothes, Hermione lightly paced over to Ron's stance on the bed and sat right next to him, their thighs brushing. Ron jerked at the sudden company and when Hermione reached across to hold both his hands he took it as his cue to open his eyes. Hermione loved this. Being able to hold his hands and graze her thigh against his and be close enough to count every freckle on the bridge of his nose.

"'Ello you." He muttered, playfully leaning across to place a kiss on the tip of her nose. Hermione swooned at the gesture. When had this boy become so sweet and mature? When had he blossomed into this man who took emotional relationships in his stride and became the protective guardian he had proved himself to be? Hermione bitterly wondered whether his experience with Lavender had helped hurry him along in this regard, however the moment was fleeting and she felt ashamed for thinking such things – given the light of things.

"We should prob'ly head home soon, Mum wants us back at six on the button and y'know what she's like." Ron huffed, flushing faintly at the all too fresh memory of her chiding him in front of everyone like a fourteen year old caught in a girls' bedroom. Of course _his _fourteen year old self had never experienced that encounter.

Hermione stance rose considerably as she tugged at his hands.

"Wait Ron. I just… I want to thank you for everything you did today." Ron merely shrugged but Hermione shook her head. "Not just for helping physically, which you proved to do brilliantly, but for everything else too. Ron, what you did earlier… My arm–"

Ron shook his head violently, cutting across her. "No, Hermione. You don't needa thank me for that. That was something I've wanted t'do for a while now. You hav'ta know, you're not what they said you are. And I never want you to think for a minute that–"

Hermione smiled affectionately. "I know, Ron. Nevertheless, it was a wonderful thing for you to do and I want–I _want_ to thank you." Ron's eyes glazed over at the suggestive tone of her words and his mouth became drier than the Sahara desert. "Y-y'what?" But rather than say anything, Hermione slowly dragged a hand up from his and gently cupped the soft skin at the back of his neck, pulling him closer to her. All the air from Ron's body evaporated at the feel of her silky soft pout against his lips and when she added pressure he felt light headed. Hermione sucked Ron's top lip into hers and something snapped in him and he grabbed her firmly by the waist and responded unreservedly.

Hermione moaned softly into the concave of his mouth as his tongue entangled with hers and he thought he'd cum right there. She subtly tugged at the ends of his hair, and extracted her mouth from his only to trail it lightly across his cheek bones, down his jaw, sucking lightly on the pulse point at his neck.

"Blimey 'Ermione!" Ron rasped as her palm skimmed across the obvious outline in his trousers. Detaching her mouth from the scratchy surface of his neck, Hermione placed a hand deliberately on the firm bulge and Ron groaned and his hips instinctively rose to meet the warmth of her hand. Slipping her hand inside his loose trousers, Hermione made contact with his hard, hot length. Ron's breath hissed against her face and Hermione couldn't help but watch in fascination as his face contorted in pleasure and concentration? Grasping it fully in her hand, Hermione moved tentatively up and down his shaft while he wriggled around in his jeans.

"Is this okay, Ron?" She asked breathlessly as he bit down on his lip harshly.

"Fuck 'Ermione, this is _- _it's _fucking perfect._" Hermione blushed at the crass words that somehow warmed her womb in the most deliciously of ways. She was suddenly overcome by curiosity. Ron's head snapped up in confusion as he felt her incredible pressure free him only to find both of her hands on his trousers before she pulled them down – boxers and all – and his cock sprang free. Hermione's face lit up at the sight of him.

_Is it meant to be that big? Does it hurt?_

With her tongue stuck out in concentration, Hermione lowered her hand backed down to grip him firmly and Ron's head dropped to her shoulder in pleasure. As his groans and whimpers began to fill the room, Hermione quickened her rhythm feeling a sense of overwhelming pride as he started to thrust spasmodically into her palm; a string of nonsensical curse words stumbling from his lips. Ron's unrepressed grunts echoed off the walls as he came over her hands, filling her palm with his sticky seed.

Ron's spent body stayed limp for a moment, his head buried in her neck and Hermione hoped that this was normal. Before she had time to react however, his lips were on hers in a brief but fierce kiss.

"Bludgerin' _fuck, _'Mione. That was – Merlin, that was amazing! This is definitely how I want you to thank me from now on. We'll have to sit beside each other at dinner, y'know just in case you ask me to pass the salt."

"Oh honestly, Ronald."


	7. Clashes and Rule Breaking

**_A/N: _**_I AM SO SORRY. First of all, please __**please**__ let me apologize for the length of time it has taken me to complete this chapter. I have been so ridiculously busy and my computer has been acting up so locating my files has been somewhat of an issue but despite my frivolous excuses I hope you can forgive me! This chapter is vital for the progression of the story and where I see it going and especially regarding Ron and Hermione's physical relationship ;) Much more R/H time to come so I'm warning you all be prepared! As always, thank you so much to those of you who have taken the time to read and especially to review. I love hearing from all of you and would appreciate hearing back from you all! Other than that I hope you enjoy and hopefully see you next chapter!__***Disclaimer* I own nothing but this story line; this was made purely for entertainment purposes.**_

**Chapter 7: Clashes and Rule Breaking**

"So, how are things then?"

George barely lifted his eyes to meet his brother's but even in the second that Ron did catch his fleeting glance, he was chilled to the bone by the concentration of coldness radiating from them.

"How do you think things are, little brother? Can't you see from the hustle and bustle of the place that it's just an on-going party here?" George questioned sarcastically, forcefully kicking a stray WWW box. Once again, Ron flinched at the venom laced in each and every one of his brother's quips.

For as long as he could remember Ron had always been the brunt of the twins' jokes – the memories of his childhood were testaments to this! Not a day had gone by when Ron hadn't been teased or tormented by Fred and George; hell, they'd even gone so far as to cast a fragility spell on everything in his bedroom causing him to break his bed, his desk, his wardrobe and his chair before he'd copped that it was they who had been the cause behind it! Because of this Ron had learned at a very early age not to take himself or anyone else too seriously and soon after realized that he was, in fact, never going to grow out of being Fred and George's guinea pig or form of entertainment. But never-_never_ had he been subjected to such malice behind jokes.

George looked utterly miserable.

His signature cheesy grin had been wiped into nothing but a set, firm line. All shininess of his vibrant hair was lost and it hung lankly on his head, masking his eyes. George's skin was no longer pale – it was grey. Dark, pervasive circles bruised the skin beneath his eyes and his lanky physique had turned gaunt and emaciated. Quite frankly, Ron was worried. Of course it was only natural to presume that George was taking Fred's death the hardest but, for once in his life, Ron was truly afraid that perhaps his brother may not be able to cope.

"George, you know that's not what I meant… I just—I just—"

"Go on, Wonniekins. Use you words." George coaxed viciously.

The tips of Ron's ears flared visibly and he suddenly became extremely interested in examining his shoes.

"M-maybe things would be better if you just y'know, came home for a while… We're all there to—"

"That's always been your resolution, hasn't it Ron? Run back to Mummy-dearest and let her _w'ook after the w'ittle baby_. Maybe if you're a good little boy, she'll read you Bappity-Rabbity before_ beddy-beddy-bye-bye's_."

Ron merely grimaced and shook off the bitterness seeping through George's tone.

"Look here, all I'm tryin' to do is—"

"What? Come over and bribe me into coming home so you can get a gold star on your forehead from Mumsie? Is that what you want Ron – to be the bestest boy for Mummy? Or is it Hermione you're looking to win over, eh? Think if you can bring the 'bad, mean brother' back to his rightful place she'll finally notice you?" George's dilated pupils met his brother's gaze determinedly. "Well guess what, little brother… She's never noticed you before now and she won't notice you after now. How long is it going to take to get through that thick skull of yours that _she doesn't want you? _She went out with Victor Krum, for fuck sake! You could never compare to that. You're just Ron Weasley – a gangly, thick ginger with nothing to his name but his famous best friend."

That did it. Ron exploded.

"HE WAS MY BROTHER TOO! JUST BECAUSE YOU'RE SO FUCKINING BUNDLED UP IN YOUR WORLD OF FUCKING MISERY DOESN'T MEAN YOU HAVE TO ATTACK ME!" Ron's face was red and blotchy and the thick purple vein in his neck pulsed violently. Exhausted and frustrated, Ron collapsed down onto the couch in George's cluttered sitting room, violently rubbing his raw eyes. Ron sighed resignedly before staring down at the ground. "Look, I know this must be hard for you but—"

"HARD?! YOU THINK YOU KNOW HOW _HARD _THIS IS FOR ME?! MY OTHER HALF IS DEAD AND YOU 'KNOW THIS MUST BE_ HARD _FOR ME?!" George bellowed at the top of his lungs, shaking with fury as he hurled empty boxes across the room. Ron cringed and his body retreated from the chaotic scene. The worry and panic rose right up his throat, like thick bile, and Ron found he couldn't swallow – only hope that this was going to end.

_What in the hell are you waiting for, you daft prick?! Your brother needs you! You're a bloody Gryffindor after all!_

With a steely resolve, Ron rose to his feet and bound across the room. George had stopped throwing things and was merely standing, his shoulders slumped and trembling. Reaching out, Ron lightly placed a hand on George's shoulder and refused to be nervous of his brother's potential actions. Ron knew this could very well end up in his being hexed or part in a duel but based on the slim chance that he could be of any real service he kept his hand where it was.

Much to his surprise, George wheeled around and hugged Ron fiercely. Tears were streaming down both of their faces but Ron couldn't help but flinch every time one of George's unrestrained sobs echoed off the walls. Never had he seen his brother so… so broken. And maybe, he thought to himself, _just maybe _it was best if George wasn't at home all the time for their mother to see him in this state. While of course, family was most definitely the Weasley's best asset – if their mother saw him in this way; _truly _broken, Ron worried if she would ever recover herself.

Ron gripped George's shoulder tightly; his eyes squeezed shut as he acknowledged the overpowering smell of firewhiskey reeking from George and made a mental note to remove all the bottles from the house. As George's sobs died to a mere shudder of shoulders and then to nothing but erratic breaths, Ron gently pulled away from him. George's eyes were drooping lowly and his body keeled over slightly. Ron rubbed away at his sore eyes before attempting a grin. "Why don't you go for a lie down, Georgie? I'll have dinner when you wake up." Ron promised, but even in his own head he couldn't help but wonder why he sounded like a parent trying to bribe a little child.

The corner of George's lips turned up slightly as he fought off a yawn, and clapped a hand on Ron's shoulder once more. "Yeah, thanks mate." He mumbled tiredly before slinking off to his bedroom.

Ron looked around the room at the broken lamp, the splintered boxes, the stacks of dirty dishes and cups and he realized that a lot of work had to be done before his brother woke up again.

&R/H&

At 6pm, Ron tried to subtly shoulder his way through the bustling crowd in the Leaky Cauldron. Surely, he should have remembered that _of course _this was peak time for business here but he had not and was now forced to drop his head while still manoeuvring his way through inch by inch. Unfortunately for Ron; the longer he was there, the more people started to recognize him.

_"Merlin's beard – is that Ron Weasley?"_

_"Our very own War Hero!"_

_"MR WEASLEY! MR WEASLEY!"_

Ron had just about decided to apparate on the spot and forget about dinner altogether when a rather slender hand gripped his arm.

"Hey, geroff!—"

"Ron, it's me. It's me, Ron."

Looking up in a state of fury, Ron's temper quickly simmered as he noticed the all-too familiar face of fellow Gryffindor, Angelina Johnson. "Angelina! What are you doing here?" He asked, surprised.

She merely quipped a brow humorously before darting her eyes around the pub and began to drag him through the crowd. "Well I work here, for starters. Just to get back on my feet, y'know? But right now I'm getting you out of here. Shouldn't you know to lie low for a while – especially during rush hour? Whether you like it or not, you're a War Hero now. People are interested in you, Ronald Weasley."

Angelina continued ahead, slinking subtly through groups while Ron's bulky figure parted them like the Red Sea. Finally they reached the bar and Angie ducked beneath the banister, urging Ron to follow her through. She marched defiantly through the kitchens and pushed through the rickety old door to the back room. Ron scuttled after her, instantly closing the door before leaning against it.

"Finally. Thanks for that, I owe you one."

Angelina merely smiled beneath her curtain of silky black hair. There was something about Angelina that always remained unchanging. Her skin always held that summer glow, her eyes always remained sparkling and hopeful and her demeanour always proved to be strong and fierce. However, Ron had to remind himself of the last time he had seen her – at Fred's funeral. He remembered the thick tears spilling their way down her always jolly face; the way she had used her hair to mask the misery there and the way she had hugged him afterwards; trying her very best to keep an unfaltering smile. Though it had only been several weeks, for Ron it felt like a lifetime ago. He looked up at her briefly and, having noticed the familiar melancholic sheen to her eyes, realized that she must have been remembering the same.

"Well, you know what I'm doing here. What about you? What exactly was _so urgent _you couldn't wait for at least half of the mass of people out there to leave?" She challenged him flippantly.

Ron shuffled in his position awkwardly before her. "Actually, I was just coming to pick up some dinner for myself and George."

In an instant, Angie's light-hearted grin dropped but she remained at ease.  
"How is he, Ron?"

"He's coping as expected, I s'pose. Not very well."

Angelina shrunk back into the desk she was leaning on and her eyes took over that glazed look once again. "Oh… I see."

"Y'know though, it might help him if he knew his friends were around. He's not been in the best of spirits but I reckon that's nothing a visit from you couldn't change – eh?" Angelina shook her head quickly and turned her head away from him while fumbling behind her for something. "I'm sorry, Ron but I don't think that's a good idea." Ron frowned and the protective nature he felt towards his brother rose within him, forcing his chest to puff out. "Well why not? Look all I'm saying is that he could use a friend right now, Angelina. You're his friend, aren't ya?"

Angelina spun around once more, her eyes severe and cold. "Do not accuse me of not being a good friend, Ronald Weasley – I warn you!"

Ron recoiled from her intense words and raised his hands in surrender. _So much for Gryffindor courage._ Angelina rubbed her forehead vigorously before giving him an apologetic smile.

"So… what can I get for you, then?"

&R/H&

The next morning, Ron woke up positively blinded by the white light streaming through the half open blinds hanging askew over the window and with a thumping in his brain so ferocious he thought his head might just explode.  
"Unnnghhh, what the _fuck _happened last night?"  
Looking around with bleary eyes, Ron realized he was still in George's – on his couch, to be exact – and that two empty bottles of firewhiskey were strewn across the floor beside him. _Oh, bludgerin' hell._ The papers that had wrapped their steak and kidney pies from the Leaky Cauldron were thrown across the room and a shattered shot glass lay on its side on the coffee table in front of him.

"GEORGE?" Ron yelled, rising to his feet and wincing at the bitter, acidic taste enveloping his tongue. Ron heard groans coming from the bathroom where he found George, lying by the toilet with a grimace on his face.

"I swear t'fucking Merlin, if you ever scream that loud again this early in my home you'll be the guinea pig for my new voice box adjusting toffees – right?"

Despite the throb in his temples and the weight in his stomach Ron chuckled as a comical grin spread across George's face.

"Who knew my own brother would try and drink me under the table, eh?" George commented from his spot on the floor, grasping the toilet for dear life. Instantly, Ron regretted his laughter as his headache doubled.

"Got any hangover cure? I suspect we'll be needin' a double dose for us bloody fools!" Ron admitted before rummaging through the bathroom cabinets.

"Ronniekins?" George questioned innocently.

"Bloody fucking hell, are you seriously going to start right now at this hour of the morn'n? Unbelievable, absolutely sodding unbelievable!"

Though it was actually Ron who found the potion, George downed most of it before Ron had even the slightest chance and then somehow hoodwinked Ron into spending the day helping him clean up Wheezes' store beneath the flat. By 6 o'clock that evening and having valiantly attempted to persuade George to come home with him, Ron parted ways with his brother.

"I know things didn't exactly turn out how we expected them to, but all in all I actually had a pretty good time little brother." George admitted, shoving Ron's shoulder playfully.

"Wish I could say the same y'filthy git! Remind me never t'visit you when you have firewhiskey in the house, yeah?"

"Unfortunately for you, that's always!"

"That's what you think. Thought I hadn't noticed your secret stash behind the bathtub, did you?"

The shit-eating grin on George's face was immediately wiped off.

"Ron, what did you do?"

"Bye Georgie, have fun!"

The last thing Ron saw before he apparated into swirling blackness was the horrified look on George's face as he pieced together what had just happened and in spite of the fact he felt like he was being squeezed through an entirely too claustrophobic tube and his ears were popping Ron's body wracked with laughter.

&R/H&

"Oh there you are Ron! We were wondering what kept you!"

Ron apparated straight onto the threshold of the Burrow; the door wide open welcoming in the light evening breeze. Harry, Ginny, Percy, his parents and Hermione were perched around the table expectantly. _Hermione. _Ron shivered at the malevolent words George had flung at him yesterday. Ron knew that he had only them in the heat of the argument but nevertheless they had sliced right through Ron, filling him with an arctic bitterness.

_She's never noticed you before now and she won't notice you after now. How long is it going to take to get through that thick skull of yours that __**she doesn't want you?**_

"Ron, dear!" Mrs Weasley bounced up onto her feet, pulling her youngest son into a bone-crushing hug. "What kept you? You don't look at all well, are you sick dear? Have you a fever? How is Georgie? Is he here, has he come with you?" Molly lobbed question after question Ron's way, her eyes searching over his shoulder before coming to the conclusion that George had not, in fact, returned home. Though she smiled, Ron knew she was disappointed. "Not to worry, dear. Sit down and have some dinner. I'm afraid we started without you; none of us knew what time you'd be back at and you never responded to my owl. You'll never believe the amount of visitors we've had in the last few days—" Mrs Weasley continued to chatter on as Ron rather numbly sat down on the chair next to hers.

He could feel Hermione's imploring gaze linger on him throughout dinner but there was something about this that made him uneasy. He needed time to think, about George had said. Of course, he knew now that Hermione did notice him – she loved him didn't she? Hadn't she expressed so on many previous occasions? Hell, she'd wanked him off for christ's sake! What girl would ever want to do that for _him _if they didn't love him, eh? But was that what the family thought? That Hermione was merely with Ron because she had pitied his constant attempts to win him over and had finally caved so as not to hurt his feelings? No, that couldn't be it! Surely they'd noticed how she'd acted when he was with Lavender. George had just been angry when he'd said the things he had.

Whether it was the wavering hangover from the previous night or the unsettling images of Hermione snogging that arsehole Krum that pervaded his brain every time he chanced a glance at her, for once in his life Ron didn't feel very hungry.

"Is there something wrong with your dinner, Ron?" Ginny questioned boisterously, still sniggering at something Harry had said. Ron grimaced and shook his head. "No, I'm just not very hungry." Mrs Weasley's fork fell straight out of her hand and clinked noisily against the ceramic plates. Harry guffawed and Hermione gasped.

"Ron – not hungry? You really must be ill mate." Harry spoke gravely and instead of finding their shock at the situation comical, Ron actually felt rather pissed off. "What? I'm allowed to not be hungry every so often!" He defended. Hermione scoffed and he shot daggers at her until she rolled her eyes. Molly raised a cool hand to his forehead and announced that indeed, he was ill and ignoring Ron's whining and grumbling insisted that he go straight up to bed for the night.

Although, Ron had initially planned to rebuff his mother's demands he figured that all he was going to do this evening anyway was lie down as he didn't feel up to much else. Between the physical exhaustion of a hangover plus a day of hard work under his belt and the emotional exhaustion of the upheaval he'd experienced with George the previous day – Ron was knackered and a kip in his bed sounded pretty good right now. So instead of arguing further, Ron carelessly made his way up to bed.

&R/H&

"FUCK!" Ron whispered harshly into the darkness, immediately bringing his leg up across his body to examine the inflamed toe he had just stubbed.

"For goodness sake, Ronald! Must you swear even in the middle of the night?"

There at the kitchen table in a fluffy nightgown with frizzy hair tumbling over her shoulders sat Hermione, stirring her camomile tea idly with a teaspoon. Though her eyes and voice were so very tired, a bemused look graced her features and Ron's dopey reaction to this sight made him wonder whether she really was part Veela. "Hunger got the best of you, did it?" She questioned mockingly and Ron's grin spread into a full on beam.

"How did you know?"

"When Ron Weasley says he's not hungry he's either lying or on his death bed!" Hermione exclaimed, leaning down to blow on her tea. Ron happily noticed that in the act of doing so her robe parted slightly, giving him a delicious peak at her creamy skin. As if on cue, Ron's stomach gurgled aggressively and he absentmindedly stroked it while mumbling something sarcastic about her always being right.

"You never owled me." Hermione accused.

"I owled here didn't I? Reckoned you would have heard somehow." Ron said, knowing she could trace the hint of guilt underlying his words. "What are you doing up anyways?" Ron questioned in the hopes of distracting her, before rummaging through the fridge to find some leftover supper.

"I couldn't sleep, but don't you dare change the subject Ronald Weasley."

Ron turned slowly, grinning shamefully. "I just had a lot on my plate with George. Can we not talk about it now? I can't think when I'm this hungry!"

Hermione renounced but he knew this wasn't the end of this conversation. "Has this been happening a lot, 'Mione? The 'not being able to sleep' I mean?"

"Fairly often. I've been down here most nights. The silence soothes me; knowing that everyone's asleep and time feels like it's passing slowly." The hazy look of contentment on her face passed in the blink of an eye. "I've been having these dreadful nightmares, you see. Nothing seems to stop them."

Ron cast a heating charm on the apple crumble he found in the fridge and sat opposite Hermione, a bowl of cream in his hand and crumbled lines on his forehead.

"Have you taken any Dreamless Sleep potion? I have some if you like, it helps me too most nights." Ron offered and Hermione smiled at the gesture.

"Madam Pomfrey gave me a basic prescription but I'm afraid on the rare occasion that it does work, the subsequent nightmares tend to be especially vivid and tangible. I've been researching spells and potions myself, but nothing so far. It's not all bad though, I do tend to get much more done now and knitting helps a lot. I expect I'll have all of your Christmas presents completed by the end of the month!" Hermione joked light-heartedly but she could tell that Ron was not pleased.

"Well, maybe we should go back to Madam Pomfrey; see if she anything stronger, yeah?"

Hermione smiled sadly, knowing now wasn't the time to argue about this and nodded simply; allowing herself to enjoy the satisfied look Ron had on his face before digging into his cream covered crumble. She watched lustfully as Ron swirled the dessert around in his mouth almost reverently before swallowing and flicking his pink tongue out to swipe over the remnants of cream clinging to the corners of his mouth. Then he'd bury the spoon, clean as a whistle once more, into the tart and it would resurface as sloppy and messy as the previous spoonful.

"_Y'wanthsum?" _Ron offered, his mouth full to the brim with apples and pastry crust. Hermione eyed the temptation before refusing the delicacy. She preferred to watch him enjoy it, after all.

"Y'know 'Mione," Ron said some time later, "Maybe you should sleep with me."

Hermione's face turned red as a tomato as she spluttered shockingly at his words. "Honestly Ron, I know we're open in this relationship and everything but don't you think that's rather blunt not to mention insensitive of you? I mean, we've only just gotten together after so many years – years of which, I will be the first to admit, were filled with tension and longing but surely a physical relationship as such should be based on mutual respect and—"

Having finally apprehended Hermione's take on his words, Ron too turned beet red before his instant reaction.

"Good god, crazy woman – I meant come up to my room to y'know actually _sleep! _D'you honestly think I'd be so frank about… y'know… _that?" _Ron whispered, quickly looking over his shoulder to ensure Mrs Weasley wasn't standing behind him with folded arms and a butcher's knife to cut off his bollocks.

Hermione's ranting and raving ceased abruptly and Ron shivered as she too crossed her arms and looked uncannily like a suspicious Mrs Weasley.

"So you don't want…_that?_"

Ron sighed dramatically and ran his frustrated fingers through his hair.

"No I bloody well don't!" He declared. Just as he thought he had been making progress with this ridiculous conversation Hermione turned on him once more.

"Well why not? Is there something _wrong _with me, something _unattractive _about me that doesn't make you want me like that?" Hermione challenged him furiously and Ron couldn't help but chortle loudly at the situation.

"Oh for Merlin's saggy left testicle, just get up the stairs you barmy witch!" Ron exclaimed disbelievingly, wrapping an arm around her waist and dropping a kiss onto her parted lips.

After much more arguing and persuading, Hermione finally relinquished and agreed to spend the night in Ron's room. And even though the bed was far too small for the pair of them and his feet were entirely too cold as they tangled with hers, Hermione felt that breaking the rules had never felt so good.


End file.
